


In Search of What Comes Easy

by auselysium



Series: Queer as Magic [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Fluff, M/M, Magical Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-03-18 10:23:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 76,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3566195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auselysium/pseuds/auselysium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian knows that Draco is a wizard. He knows about his past as a Death Eater. But strangest of all, Brian also knows that he wants Draco in his life. But sometimes wanting something isn't enough.</p><p>Continuation of the Queer as Magic verse and a sequel to And So It Begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Draco Malfoy sighs.  
  
It is not a belabored sigh, one replete with weariness or fatigue.  Nor is it a sigh of exasperation, a frustrated puff of air, released in annoyance.  
  
No, it is quite a contented sigh.  The kind that escapes from his lungs with nothing more than the pressure of his chest relaxing.  Light and long and easy.  It expresses the simple satisfaction of his current state.   
  
It is a serene summer evening and the sigh is aptly fitting, blending so seamlessly with the gentle night breeze that it is barely heard.  It is a night that only Mother Nature, and no form of magic, can conjure.  A smattering of fireflies, the wafting smell of nicotiana, a lone nightingale’s twittering song.  There is just enough light left in the sky to make it glow navy blue and the water of the pond off in the distance is made black in the low light.     
  
Draco feels indulgently casual, sprawled as he is on the Manor lawn.  His legs seem to stretch out for miles in front of him.  He is propped up on his elbows, one hand curled around a wine glass, the other fingers grazing over long stems of grass.  
  
His lips pull up into a smile as he takes in the scene around him, still amazed at how the Fates have left him with this bit of peace.  
  
Not three weeks previous, Draco had watched, through blood-shot eyes, as his life spiraled into turmoil.  His carefully laid plan crumbling to pieces with nothing more than an aching whimper and the utterance of three simple sentences.  
  
 _I love you.  
  
I am a wizard.  
  
I am not a good man.    
_  
The truth, which he had so desperately wished to ignore, had finally forced its way to the surface, thrusting him in a direction he had once feared.   
  
But then - with the press of soft lips to his own, the sincerity of an artful touch, a select handful of perfect words – Draco’s course had been righted.  His sails filled with unexpected companionship and forgiveness.    
  
Brian didn’t have to believe him.  Didn’t have to understand him.  Didn’t have to forgive him.  And yet he had.  Proving, to Draco if no one else, that Brian’s line about not doing romance was bullshit because he couldn’t think of a more gallant gesture than Brian's absolute acceptance of Draco’s past.  
  
There had not been much time to miss him in the intervening weeks, yet somehow Draco had.  Even with two or three owls a day to Hogwarts, requesting and scheduling NEWTS he was long past due to take, followed by cram sessions in defensive spells and potions recipes he hadn’t seen or thought about in years, three hour flying workouts at the Manor pitch as he tried desperately to get back in shape and evenings spent, much like this one - simply catching up on lost time - he found himself imagining the sparse furnishing of an urban loft with staggering regularity.  
    
He smirks now, thinking the only thing that would take this evening from sublime to perfect were if Brian were here with him instead of back in Pittsburgh.  But their time apart is drawing to an end and Draco’s anticipation for the reunion is nearly all-consuming.  How good will it feel it be by his side once more?  He takes a sip of his wine, letting the flavors play across his tongue.    
  
“So?  What do you think?”   
  
Draco starts, having almost forgotten he wasn’t alone and looks up to see Blaise Zabini looking at him, his eyes bright and curious.  The man beside him has become desperately handsome, not that he wasn’t before, but the shift from teenager to twenty-something has been good for Blaise.  He has clearly been taking care of himself.  The muscles of him arms and chest far larger and more chiseled than they ever had been in school, stretching the limits of his tight, white tank. His dark skin seems to soak up the twilight, enriching its tone to an even darker hue.  His lips are pink, wet with the wine and they smile at Draco.   _Oh the trouble those lips got up to when tangled up with my own_ , Draco thinks.         
  
It had never been much more than lust between him and Blaise.  Experimentation mixed with friendship simply because they could.  And while the flirtation has not waned much, and Blaise has made his continued desire of Draco quite clear, Draco is determined to let that part of their relationship be done.  To let it linger in the secret passageways of Hogwarts where it had started.     
  
“It’s lovely.”  Draco says, swirling the golden liquid around within his glass.  “Bit on the sweet end of my tastes, but the herbal flavor keeps it from being too much so.  What did you say it was?”  
  
"It's a ’98 lavender wine from a vineyard down in Wales.  An elvish place but my mother owns a share in it."   
  
"'98?  Shouldn't you have let that vintage age longer?"  
  
"With a burgundy of shiraz yes, but with lavender wine you can't let it sit too long.  The longer it ages, the stronger the lavender taste becomes until all essence of the grape is lost and it becomes nearly undrinkable.  Another year or two and drinking this would be like shoving your face in a potions bowl.”  
  
“Yes, or into the cleavage of that great ninny of a Gryffindor.”    
  
The last sentence rumbles out between ruby lips, accompanied by a great deal of cigarette smoke.  Draco snorts, looking to the speaker and is awarded a quick wink.  
  
While Blaise seems to have grown into adulthood in the past two years, Pansy Parkinson hasn’t changed one bit.  Her face still looks young, a dainty nose with large eyes set in an oval face.  Her hair, black and shinning, is still cut in her trademark bob that she has sported since she was seven and probably always will.  The only indication that time has touched her at all are the blue, wireframe glasses she now wears, making her look both smart and playful at once.  She lies on the grass nearby, her petite frame curled up in a complicated matter on her side.    
  
“That was just her name, Pansy.  She didn’t actually taste like lavender..."  Blaise pulls a massive smirk.  "I should know, after all.”  Pansy laughs sarcastically, acknowledging his aside, but also her complete lack of amusement in it.    
  
“Really I would prefer not to hear about you and Weasley's sloppy seconds."  She says, having rarely felt nothing but reproach for Blaise’s choice in bed partners.  "But either way, when did the two of you become such wine snobs?"  
  
Draco looks quickly at Blaise who simply shrugs.  Pansy 'humphs' loudly at their nonanswer.  "You both sound too bloody old.  And too bloody grown up.  When was the last time we spent a warm summer's night at the Manor, hmm?  Summer before fifth year?"  

"Greg and Daphne were here,"  Blaise adds, nodding.

"...and Vince,"  Pansy says.  She takes a drag on her cigarette to fill the uncomfortable silence at the mention of their dead friend.   _Perhaps time has touched her after all_ , Draco thinks somberly.    
  
With another quick puff she says, "We got ridiculously high off of Pepper-Upper potion and ended up skinny dipping in the pond.  Daphne got a grindlow stuck to her bottom but we were all in such a state laughing at her that it took us nearly twenty minutes to get the thing off her."  Pansy laughs.  "She was completely mortified, poor girl."  
  
Draco smiles at the memory.  Blaise however pushes himself up off the ground, using Draco's shoulder for leverage.  Before he stands all the way up he leans down to whisper in Draco's ear, "If she's taking a trip down memory lane, I'm going to need another bottle."  Draco nods quickly and Blaise starts up the hill back towards the Manor, whispering " _Lumos_ " as he goes.  
  
Pansy hardly seems to have noticed his departure, her eyes glazed over in reminiscence.  Then she asks, "Do you remember that night, Draco?"  
  
"Of course,"  He says, knowing what she is looking for him to say.  "It was the first time we kissed."  
  
If Pansy were the blushing type, she would have.  Instead she merely turns her head towards Draco and gives him a timid smile.       
  
"It was my first kiss.  Did you know that?"  
  
"I did.  It was mine too."  
  
"We managed to work our way through a lot of 'firsts' together, didn't we?"  Pansy grins, flashing her eyebrows devilishly.    
  
"I seem to remember one or two,"  Draco says, in an equally wicked tone.    
  
"Everything was so much simpler back then. All that mattered was getting snogged and winning the House Cup."  Draco sits up, pulling his knees towards his chest.  He suddenly understands Blaise's need for more alcohol.  "And now...now, you're off to America to become an Auror, just when I thought I'd finally got you back.  Blaise is hardly ever around, what with his Curse Breaker training.   Greg's disappeared to Scotland doing lord knows what and Vince is gone.  Sometimes...sometimes I just wish we could go back. Back to when things were easier.  Wouldn't that be nice?  To go back?"   
  
"No,"  Draco says, immediately.  
  
"No?"    
  
"No,"  He reiterates.  "There were far too many terrible things lying ahead of us back then, things we couldn't even have imagined.  And even for all we lost, all the horrible things we saw, I'm glad the we've ended up here. The Dark Lord is gone, the country is safe and stable, ready to move past old grudges, we're all starting our adult lives with no threat of war hanging over our heads..."  
  
"You have Brian,"  She interrupts.  Draco meets her gaze.  
  
"He's part of it, I suppose."  
  
"You love him."  It is not quite a question, but her voice is cautious.  
  
"I do,"  Draco answers, still surprised by how easily that answer comes.      
  
"I'm happy for you, I am.  I just suppose, part of me had always thought that some day....you and I..."  
  
"Pans.  Don't,"  Draco warns in sad tones.  "All that with you and me...it was a different lifetime.  A different you.  Certainly a different me."        
  
She sits, looking at him.  "You have changed, haven't you?"  
  
"With the war...how could I not?"      
  
Her brow furrows slightly.  "It's not like that though.  I watched you during the war.  I saw how it affected you, what it did to you.  It isn't the war that has changed you.  You're determined and sharp.  Completely set on your course.  You're confident with just a hint of arrogance."    
  
"Thanks,"  Draco snorts.    
  
"Well you wouldn't be a Malfoy if you weren't still a  _bit_  of a wanker!"  She defends herself, kicking at Draco's shin playfully.  "Besides it's not a bad thing, makes you all the more formidable.  And...well, I can't say I've ever seen you so bloody happy."    
    
"About time, too."  Blaise's low voice surprises both Draco and Pansy, having returned on silent feet.   Blaise smoothes a heavy palm over Draco's hair, smiling down on the blond with all the affection of an old friend.  Draco looks up, grabing the other man's hand, pressing a grateful kiss to his palm before he finally looks away.    
  
"Of course, who can blame you really?"  Blaise asks as he refills Draco's glass, shifting his tone to one that is thankfully lighter.  "I'd be bloody happy to if I had Brian Kinney in my bed too."  
  
"Yes, dearest, you're really quite sure you won't share him?"  Pansy bats her eyelashes at him as Draco throws his head back, laughing.  Perhaps, even without Brian here, amid old friends like Pansy and Blaise this night might just be perfect after all. 

*

Three thousand miles and several time zones away, Brian Kinney swivels in his desk chair, effortlessly switching from one task to the next. The large pile of Post-It notes, covered in his secretary Cynthia's concise script, listing all the urgent calls to be made had been taken care of. Having assuaged worried clients and put out fires left and right, he now picks up some proofs from a recent photo shoot, appraising them with a masterful eye.

Late summer is always a busy time in advertising. Companies in search of a new advertising push for the fall, scour each ad firm in the city for the best campaign, usually ending up at Ryder and Associates, thanks in no small part to Brian's frank, sexy and youthful approach to sales. He has always been diligent about his job, tolerating no bullshit when it comes to his career and his success. He brings in the big money clients and is far and away the best at his firm. There is no hubris in his belief that he is the best in Pittsburgh and given the chance, could knock the socks off the big boys in New York or London.

Which is why, in the past few weeks, he has thrown himself even more whole heartedly into being the very best ad exec alive. He wants out of Pittsburgh and the sooner the better. He tries to tell himself that is has nothing to do with the blond, Englishman who has eased himself into Brian's life with such fluency. The one who, if all goes according to plan, will be moving to New York in a month's time. He tries to tell himself that his renewed desire to move to New York is because it is what he deserves. That his work warrants more exposure, more clout and more money. That he deserves to live the glamorous Manhattan lifestyle he had always dreamt about as a boy. One that had been so distant from life under the thumb of Jack and Joan that it had felt like some fantasy world.

Brian can't help but chuckle ironically at his own thoughts. "Fantasy world... been there. Got the fucking t-shirt." He mumbles out loud, taking a closer look at a promising photo.

There are still times Brian has to remind himself that everything he witnessed in England was real. That it wasn't simply some bad acid trip. But in fact everything Draco and his mother had told him was the truth. He hasn't breathed a word to anyone about Draco's true nature as a wizard. He keeps it their secret partially out of obligation to his young lover and partially out of mere self preservation. Because who the hell would believe him anyway?

His phone rings and he picks it up, eyes never leaving his task. "Kinney."

"I fucking called you." Brian's eyes roll heavily in his head.

"Hi Mikey."

"Where the fuck have you been? I've been worried sick."

"I've been in meetings." Brian says, his voice condescending.

"Cynthia didn't give you the message that I called then? God, you really need to find a better secretary."

"What the hell do you know about the qualities of office assistants, Mr. Big Q Mart?"

"Oh fuck you, Brian, did she give you the message or not?"

Brian rolls back towards the middle of his desk, pushing several boards out of the way. He sifts through some papers to finally find the missing message.

"Ahh...here we are." He lifts the pink slip of paper dramatically, letting the sticky part adhere to his pointer finger and holds it out at arms length to read. "Michael called. 1:30 and 2:45." He then crumples up the paper, sending it on a high arching shot straight into the trash can.

"Then why didn't you call?"

"Because I'm at work, Michael and the message that my paranoid best friend called not once, but twice in the space of an hour was buried under about five other calls from clients. You know, the people I'm getting paid to call."

"Well I'm sorry!" Michael snaps, then softens his voice substantially. "It's just... I haven't heard from you in, like, three days."

"I certainly hope our friendship is not so co-dependent that this is a problem."

"Well the last time I didn't hear from you for a while, I come to find out it's because you'd been in England for three days with Draco."

"It was a last minute trip, you know that." Brian says then smirking privately into the phone. If only he knew how last minute. He clears his throat. "Spontaneity, Michael, it is the key to any successful relationship."

Brian's comment is met with silence and for a minute he wonders if Michael's cell phone has cut out.

"Holy shit." Michael says softly. "You said it."

"Said what?"

"The 'R' word. You actually used the 'R' word in reference to Draco."

Brian winces slightly, afraid he might have let too much slip, even to Michael.

He feels very private about his feelings towards Draco. For the first time, perhaps ever, he feels no ulterior motives from another man. Draco wants to be in Brian's life, simply to be in his life. Not to change him, not to fix him, not to take pity or idolize him. Draco simply fits. Filling a void, sexual and emotional, that Brian thought he didn't need filling.

Brian has never let himself get this close to a lover. Even in college when guys wanted to "date" him, Brian always had a way out of the pairing if things became too emotional or entangled. He always had an escape plan, a release valve. He never valued these romantic companions because he felt no need for them. He had his emotional support in Michael and Lindsay and his sexual release in his tricking, so what did he need a boyfriend for?

But something changed when he met Draco. Their dynamic and attraction was intense from the very beginning. After the two nights trapped in the loft, when Brian had charted every inch of Draco's body and tried to make sense of his all enigmatic answers, his addictive personality had been left with a new drug to abuse. The more he fucked Draco, the more he wanted to fuck Draco. The more he learned about him, the more he wanted to learn. And so Brian did something he never, ever did: he went after him.

Now, nearly six months later, Draco is an established part of Brian's life. And yet, there is no sense of panic in that fact. No feeling of being trapped or bound. It is unnervingly easy to be with him. Like having a very hot, very insightful best friend that he happens to have sex with on a regular basis.

But while Brian may have made an uneasy peace with this new situation, he is not ready for anyone else, besides the two men involved, to know.

"Of course I have a relationship with him." Brian snaps into the phone in a sharp, testy tone. "I have a relationship with you too, you know. With my boss, with Theodore and Honeycutt. Christ I even have a relationship with my sister, dysfunctional as it may be."

"Ok, whatever." Michael snorts and Brian can only imagine the smug smile on his friends face. "Don't get me wrong, the kid has really grown on my in the past few months, but it will be good when things go back to normal."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"You know. Typical, unattached, stud of Liberty Avenue Brian. Now that he's going to New York and all, I assumed..."

"You assume too fucking much, Michael. You've known me long enough to never assume anything about me." Brian says, suddenly feeling defensive as well as annoyed.

"You're not seriously going to do long distance with him?"

"Why would it be long distance when I'll be moving there myself?"

"But you turned down that job..." The pitch of Michael's voice creeps ever higher as his desperation to find some reason for Brian not to go to New York increases.

"So I could take a better one."

"Do you have another interview?"

"Not yet. But I'm up for an award in the spring that could open a lot of doors and I've been talking to a couple firms in the City." Brian looks around his small office. "I'm done here, Mikey. There is no where left for my career to go."

"There is more to life than work. What about Linds and Mel's baby?"

"He or she is just that: Lindsey and Melanie's. I never had any intention of being more than the sperm donor and they know that."

"What about me?" Michael says softly and Brian's annoyance dissipates, filled instead with a life long connection to this man.

"Mikey, do you really have to ask me that? You know I love you. Always have. Always will. Me being six hours east won't change that."

Michael sighs heavily, then in a much calmer tone says, "You be at Woody's tonight?"

"Yeah, I'll be there." The tension on the line smoothes, and Brian takes some quiet comfort in the perpetuity of Michael Novotney.

*

"How did I end up with such a vast amount of crap?"  Draco asks no one in particular as he lazily scratches at his sleep tousled hair.  
  
The morning sunlight is spilling copiously into his bedroom, highlighting the vast piles of belongings in need of packing, strewn about on his bed and floor.  The majority are clothes, and he has spent nearly an hour sorting them: too small, too big, too dated, too "wizardy", too impractical.  Then there are the heaps of old school items: tests and essays.  An old and overused potions kit.  And of course there are the childhood mementos: his first broom, a practice wand, a miniature toy phoenix, that spontaneously combusts when you pet it on the head.    
  
"We are Malfoy's.  We pride ourselves on having vast amounts of crap."    
  
Draco looks up to see his mother come into the room.  Her hair is down, falling in straight, platinum layers, making her look young and fresh in her light pink robes.    
  
"And look," She announces, lifting the box in her hands higher.  "I bring yet more crap."    
  
Draco smiles at her.  Since returning home, he has observed a new level of flippancy in his mother's behavior.  Lax humor that has surprised Draco in its wit and borderline crassness.  He cannot help but wonder if this spunky lady is the woman his mother has always been and he had simply been too young to notice or if something about the passage of time has freed this more relaxed nature from within her.        
  
She dumps a heavy box on Draco's bed with a dramatic sigh.  
  
"What's all this?"  He asks.  
  
"A box Quimbly found this morning."  She reaches to take of the lid.  "It's your baby things."  
  
"You've kept all that?"  
  
"Of course, darling.  You'll find the older you get, the more need you have for nostalgia.  And the more you need those things that help you remember."    
  
The contents reveal a silver rattle, a little tarnished with age.  A lock of corn silk blond hair from his first hair cut, tied together with a white silk bow.  His mother holds it up to his head and smiles when she sees that his hair has hardly darkened at all.  She unfolds a royal blue baby outfit, complete with zip up front and fuzzy feet, a small green dragon embroidered on the front.   
  
"I was really that small?"  Draco says, looking at the pint sized outfit in awe.  
  
"Smaller, when you were born.  You were nearly six months old when you wore this."  She folds the garment lovingly in her lap.  "Sometimes I wish we'd had another just so babies weren't such an alien concept to you."  
  
"Can't imagine I'll have much need for baby expertise, considering..."    
  
"Your current choice in lover?"  She finishes.  Draco shrugs.  "Ah, but is not that male lover about to become a father?"  
  
"Biologically?  Yes.  Socially?  That is yet to be determined."  
  
His mother smiles.  "Do not underestimate the power of seeing your own flesh and blood, Draco.  You may need to know more about children than you might think."  
  
She continues fishing through the box in silence for a few minutes, as Draco choses between a set of dress robes with gold lining or a set with silver to take.  
  
"Ah.  I hoped that was in here."  
  
"What?"  
  
"The Father Blanket."   
  
"The what?"  
  
Narcissa smoothes the soft fabric across her lap as she beings.  "During the first Resurgence of the 15th century, when magical communities and families were thriving, the old pureblood families became quite comfortable in their place.  They felt little threat to either their lineage or their continued supremacy in the magical world because their blood was strong and would always produce heirs.    
  
"But over the years, as the magical population was hunted and killed by Muggles, first born sons became harder and harder to conceive and became all the more cherished when they were.  All the while first born girls were often cast aside, disowned.  Even killed by pureblood males looking to continue their line."  She shakes her head sadly.  "This of course was crushing to the mothers of these children, who simply wanted to love their children and to have their spouses love the children in return.  So a spell was created and weaved into special blankets called Father Blankets, that when the father would hold the child for the first time, an intense sense of closeness would over come them.  A need to protect the child and care for them, binding the father to the child - male or female.  As a result the magical population stabilized and female children became just as accepted as males."  
  
Draco sits on the edge of his bed, enrapt by his mother's tale.  
  
"Over time, the need for the spell to be woven into the blanket became unnecessary, but the tradition remained.  This," She fingers the satin lined blanket tenderly, "is nothing more than a blanket - no spells, no charms.  But I will never forget the look on your father's face when they wrapped you in this and placed you in his arms for the first time."    
  
She looks up at Draco, her eyes wet.  "I thought I had seen him look at me with undying love, but it was nothing in comparison to how he looked at you."  
  
A cold weight sinks through Draco's gut and he turns away from his mother.  
  
There had been no time before Draco fled to Pittsburgh for he and his mother to come to terms with his father's punishment - less than twenty-four hours between when the Dementor's stole their vicious kiss and Draco found himself on the streets of a foreign city.  Instead of finding comfort and support in their mutual grief, each had been left to deal with their loss alone.  Draco's father was not dead, but as good as; his state resembling something akin to a vegetable rather than a grown man. He had been a menacing force in Voldemort's ranks prior to his failure to achieve the Prophecy.  But in the following two years, during the heart of the war, he had been little more than Voldmort's minion - nearly as fearful of the Dark Lord's wrath as the mudbloods they sought to eliminate.    
  
Had Lucius Malfoy deserved his fate?  Most likely.  He had never been one to shy away from his pride or ideologies.  Had he been an arrogant, narcissistic, bigoted, controlling father who expected perfection and obedience from his son?  Incontrovertibly.  But had he been the man who had pulled Draco on a sled through three feet of fresh snow and spent hours in his study teaching his son the art of chess?  Who regardless of his expectations, always found a way to speak of his quiet pride?  Well, yes, he was that man too.  
  
Since coming back to the Manor, he and his mother have danced around all mention of him.  It seems today however that his mother has brought up the topic on purpose, perhaps seeking some closure of her own.  
  
"Does it pain you to talk about him?"  
  
Draco shrugs, picking at a stray thread on his duvet.  "We just never have, that's all."  
  
"I had been thinking that it might be good for you, before you left, if we went to go see..."  
  
"Why on earth would I want to go there?"  Draco cuts her off in a harsh whisper.  "To go to that place?  To see him in such a state?  It was bad enough watching it happen."  
  
"He just sits in his cell, staring off into the distance. It can be surprisingly peaceful to watch him.  That is if you can ignore the Dementors, the cold, the smell and the screams from the other prisoners."  
  
"You've been?"  Draco asks, almost disgusted.  
  
"Do you think me weak for doing so?  For still caring about him even after all that he has done?  All that he inflicted upon you?  Upon us?"  
  
"Mum,"  Draco says, lifting his face to hers.  "Of course not.  I still think about him, worry about how is being treated.  But sometimes I wish..."  
  
His mother encourages him to complete his thought with an expectant look.   
  
"Sometimes I wish I could hate him."    
  
His mother takes in a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly in empathy, sympathy, understanding.  All those things.   
  
"But you can't.  And neither can I.  Your father was a complex man.  So often antithetical to himself.  Cruel yet constant.  Affectionate yet indifferent.  To you and to me.  So it is not surprising that the emotions you feel in regards to him are equally complex.  There have been many nights, spent alone in this place that  I have wished for the same thing."  
  
"And now?"  
  
"Now, I wish that you had had time to know him in a world without the Dark Lord.  To see the man his was without that poison in his life.  And I wish he had had time to know you as a man and not just a boy.  To see the handsome, resolute soul you now are."  She touches his cheek lightly as his pale complexion flushes.    
  
She drops her hand to her lap.  "And I wish I did not have to live with the undue burden of being the only one in the family to have had the fortune of knowing both."  
  
He reaches for his mother's hand, clasping her cool fingers in his own.  "Me too."  His voice is weak as he speaks, but in the presence of his mother's unflinching love, he doesn't much mind.           
  
Several minutes later, Narcissa breaks the hard silence.  "You'll take this."  She places the blanket in his lap.   
  
"Mum..."  He complains, with all the chagrin of an embarrassed child.  
  
"It is only right that Brian have it."  
  
Draco looks at the blanket, it's white fabric still incredibly soft and warm.  He looks at his mother then teases, "You really are smitten with him aren't you?"    
  
"Not nearly as much as you."  She quips back in an equally playful tone.  
  
Unable to deny his mother's statement, Draco sends the blanket to his "to take" pile with a flick of his wrist.


	2. Chapter 2

A few hours later, even as Draco presses his legs against the tangle of sheets, waves of pleasure rolling through his limbs, he cannot help but feel some shame in what he is doing.  
  
His trunk is packed. All his belongings ready for his departure the next morning. He will take a Portkey from Diagon Alley to New York, have his interview with the New York Auror department and be back in Pittsburgh by nightfall.    
  
He knows he will see Brian in just over twenty-four hours, and yet his resolve has weakened. He could not deny himself this one last time and when the opportunity had arisen, he had taken it.    
  
“Feel good?” A voice rasps at his ear.  
  
“Gods, yesss…” A high, pining sound drags out from between Draco's lips.   
  
“You drive me crazy when you moan like that.”    
  
“Can’t help myself. Feels too fucking good.”  
  
“You close?” His partner asks.    
  
“Yeah, don’t stop.”  
  
The deft fingers around his cock grow stronger, speeding their pace, stoking the fire that is consuming him from his head to his toes. He is alight with a beautiful burning, a blinding bliss. His skin flushes, his stomach muscles clench, his cock swells with the unbearable tension of his imminent release.   
  
"I’m…mmm….fuck!” He cries, collapsing back against the bed, muscles releasing as the rush of orgasm crashes through him.  
  
Across the Atlantic, Brian utters something equally unintelligible and falls back against his own bed, a mischievous smile barely ghosting over his lips. He lifts his head off his pillow, careful not to dislodge the phone cradled against his ear as he survey's the damage splattered across his chest.   
  
“Christ Draco, that was almost as good as having you here.” Brian says, still slightly breathless. Draco snickers.  
  
“I don’t know if I should take that as a compliment or not.” Draco casts a quick cleaning spell over his stomach and hand. Once the spell work is done, he takes the phone from where it is hovering in the air with a levitation charm and turns off the speakerphone function.    
  
“Take it as a testament to your vastly improved phone sex skills.”  
  
“Considering I’d never even heard of the art form three weeks ago, I’d say my learning curve has been very high.”  
  
“I would expect nothing less from my most prized pupil.”  
  
Draco grins privately at Brian’s circuitously sweet remark. The tenderness is there, if you just know how to hear it.  
  
"Did I wake you?" Draco asks, lifting his hips to slide his trousers back up.  
  
"Of course you did. It's fucking seven forty-five in the morning."  
  
"Aren't you usually up by now?"  
  
"Yeah." Brian says, pushing himself up into a sitting position and only then realizing what the orgasm had post-ponned: that he was pretty damn hung over. "Just...had a late night."   
  
"Let me guess, Woody's with the boys then to Babylon where you indulged in far too much alcohol, drugs and men."  
  
"When did you become such a smart son of a bitch?"  
  
"I've always been a smart son of a bitch, it's part of my charm." Brian snorts on the other end of the line. "Well, I'm sorry for waking you."  
  
"Don't appologize. You calling me to tell me that you have a massive hard on and can't stop thinking about my mouth on your cock is much better than an alarm clock."  
  
"I couldn't help myself," Draco says shrugging his shoulders with a shy smile, even though the act goes unseen. "Something about packing this morning got me all turned on."  
  
"Kinky."  
  
"Not at all. I'm just excited to see you I think. I've missed you, you know."    
  
An aching silence fills Draco's ears as Brian swings his feet over the side of his bed, resting his pounding head in a hand. Even for the hell his body is in from the hang over, a strange feeling seizes his chest, one he might identify as elation at the thought of Draco's return. Brian doesn't miss people. He thinks is a waste of energy, but the thought of having Draco in his bed once more is most certainly a good thing.    
  
"It's not even been a month," Brian replies finally. But for all the reprimand in his statement, his voice is mild.    
  
"That's too long," Draco says with a shake of his head. "I'm sick of imagining you, Brian. I want to feel you. To taste you. To have you for real and not just in my head."  
  
The feeling in Brian's chest surges again.    
  
"I promise to make it worth the wait."  
  
"I'm holding you to that."  
  
"Do you doubt it?  
  
"Not for a second." Draco smiles into the phone as on the other end of the line, Brian bites at his lip to suppress a smile of his own.  
  
"So... what have you been up to the past few days?" Brian asks, padding into his bathroom and turning on the shower.  
  
"Not much. Packing mostly. Pansy and Blaise came over last night."    
  
"Uh oh, a night with two former lovers? Should I be jealous?"  
  
"Are you jealous?"    
  
"I don't do jealous."  
  
"No of course you don't." Draco smirks, throwing open the glass door to the balcony off his room and stepping out into the afternoon sun. "But I wouldn't worry about it anyway. The way they bicker, they'll probably end up together eventually. Although they are both desperate to shag you and they both blame you for stealing me away back to the States. But before you even begin to panic, you know that isn't the reason I'm coming back, so just put that thought from that pretty little head of yours at once."  
  
Brian rolls his eyes, partially at the way Draco had phrased the order and partially at how perfectly the other man knows him. And his insecurities.  
  
"You nervous about tomorrow?" Brian asks.  
  
Draco's Auror interview the next day had been a frequent topic for discussion. Brian, being the master of sales he is, had gifted Draco with as many of his tricks of the trade as possible. He had coached Draco on nearly everything related to the interview, based on the claim that he had never not gotten a job offer after having one. He told Draco how to sit, how to talk - even going so far as to suggest what outfit to wear.    
  
Draco scoffs. "Please, with my inbred penchant for schmoozing and all the advice you've given me? I'm a shooin."  
  
Brian laughs gently, then says, "Look, I gotta run. Find some fucking asprin and get to work. But...Dra?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
Brian pauses, savoring the truth in his next statement.  
  
"I'll see you soon."

*

 _And things had been going so well until now_ , Draco thinks.  
  
He looks up at the door to Magical Food Imports Office and down again at the map of the New York Bureau for Magic in his hands.  Just like the Ministry for Magic in London, the NYBM is underground.  Built into old New York subway openings that are no longer in use.  Up until a few moments ago, Draco had been under the assumption that the corridor he was walking down would lead him directly to the Auror Admissions Office where he was headed for his interview.  Then the map in his hands had suddenly rearranged the already complicated jumble of halls and passageways into a new formation.  And Draco could only watch, dumbfounded, as the walls around him ripped away from themselves, groaning and heaving with a great amount of dust, only to reattach themselves onto a different location.    
  
This is the second time this has happened and his patience is wearing thin.  
  
He studies the map again, noticing the Admissions Office has moved half way across the building.  With a deep breath which really sounds more like a growl, he beings to walk in its presumed direction, wondering if being able to find the interview room is actually part of the test.  
  
The day had truly started off quite well.  A tearless departure from the Manor, where both his mother and Pansy had seen him off with promises of a trip to New York within the month.  The portkey from London had been on time and with little turbulence.    
  
The first stage of his Auror entrance process had been a written exam where he had been tested on theoretical knowledge of defensive spell work and charms, the history of the Unforgiveables and a short section on antidotes to common poisons.  The test had been a breeze.  
  
Next came a practical portion, where a panel of current NYC Auror's watched the applicants fight off a series of contrived adversaries.  His counter jinxes had been well timed and his defensive spells effective.  And while the whole endeavor had left him more winded that he cared to acknowledge, there was not anything he could have done better.  
  
The only thing remaining between him and acceptance into the American Auror Academy was the interview.   _That is of course if  I can find the godforsaken room._  
  
By sheer luck more than anything else, twenty minutes later Draco pushes open the massive glass and steel doors that stand outside the entrance to the Auror Department.  
  
He throws himself into an open chair in the waiting area and puts his most unhelpful map away.    
  
"Fucking finally," he mutters under his breath and runs his hands over his face, trying to shake off the remaining tension.     
  
"You get lost too?"    
  
Draco turns to his left to see a young man sitting next to him.  The boy's limbs are too long for the chair and his knees look knobby and awkward.  He can't be a day over seventeen, his face so fresh and innocent.  His straw yellow hair is messy but his skin glows with the tan, resilient look of one who spends much of his life outdoors.  He is handsome, in a rugged way, even in his ill-fitting suit.     
  
Draco remembers him from the Practical portion of the application.  He had gone in the group right before Draco.  He had been a bit slow on his spells, but they had always reached their mark.   
  
Draco smiles warmly at him.  "Yes.  Quite lost.  I'm glad to see I'm not the only one."  
  
"Map looks like a pile of spaghetti dumped on the floor if you ask me,"  He says, smiling back. His voice drawls in an entirely different way from Draco's, slow but with a decidedly Southern twang.    
  
"I hadn't thought of it that way, but that is certainly an apt description."    
  
The young man turns his attention back to his hands, twirling his wand nervously.  His knees bouncing with uncontrolled energy.  Draco is quite sure he never looked that young.  Never that naive.  Even when he was a boy Draco had an air about him, a pretension.  This boy is all eagerness and earnestness and Draco finds him oddly appealing.  
  
"You been in New York long?"  
  
"No, sir. Just arrived this morning.  I've never been north of Mason-Dixon line."  
  
Draco tries not to rcoil at being called "sir", feeling far too young for such a title.  But then he realizes it is just the boy's manors.   _Not so different from my own._  
  
"Where are you from?"  
  
"McRae, Georgia."  
  
"Can't say I've heard of it."  
  
"Oh you wouldn't have.  Town isn't much more than a gas station, a Post Office and bunch of churches."  
  
"What does a magical family do in a place like that?"  
  
"Mandrake farmers."  Draco opens his mouth in a soundless "Ah" and nods his head.  The young man looks at him sidelong and says, "You're English right?"  
  
"That's right."  Draco puts out his hand.  "Draco Malfoy."  
  
The lad smiles brightly, turning his handsome face into something even more attractive and shakes his hand.  "Jebediah Reynolds.  You can call me Jeb.  Pleasure to meet you."  
  
"Like wise."  Draco sits back in his chair, happy to chat idly with Jeb until he is called for his interview.  
  
Chief Auror Ruben Menlo's office is much like Draco had expected.  Dark wooden walls, with a massive oak desk overwhelming the space.  The walls are covered with pictures of wanted criminals.  Some are magical mug shots, the perps occasionally shouting out obscenities or threats, while some are stationary Muggle photos, leading Draco to wonder if the NYC Auror department has some ties to the NYPD.    
  
Chief Menlo is leaning back in his office chair perusing a file when Draco is shown in, but leaps to his feet as soon as Draco enters.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, please come in.  Sit.  Sit.  Can I get you some water?  Coffee?  Tastes like motor oil but it does the job."      
  
"No, thank you sir."  Draco says, sitting carefully in the chair opposite the desk.  
  
The Chief is not young nor fit.  He clearly has moved from being out in the field, to spending his life behind a desk and his physique has suffered for it.  But he has piercing black eyes that expanding of the waistline can detract from.  He sits again, opening Draco's application and takes a loud slurp of coffee.  With a grimace he sets the cup aside.  
  
"Well, Mr. Malfoy, you have a very strong application.  It took us awhile to sort out your N.E.W.T scores - you know we use a different system here in the States - but once we did, we realized your scores are very impressive, especially in charms and potions."  
  
"I'm sorry to put you through so much trouble."  
  
"No, no trouble.  Not the only English guy we've had apply this year actually so it was pretty convenient when we got his application."  
  
Draco's thoughts immediately jump to the other war bedraggled man the worker at the New York bookshop had mentioned all those months ago.  Could this person be one and the same?      
  
"I see you were a member of your house Quidditch team in school.  What position did you play?"  
  
The Chief continues, unaware that Draco's mind is busy trying to figure out who this mystery English wizard could be.   
  
He shakes his head, refocusing on the interview.  "Seeker."    
  
Chief Minor points at himself with his thumb.  "Beater."  Draco nods, humoring this bit of nostalgia.  
  
"Your scores were nearly perfect on the written exam this morning and the panel gave you very high marks on your wand work and spell readiness during the practical.  You seem an ideal Auror candidate."  He smiles at Draco, but then the lines on his face lengthen.  "But being an Auror is not about test scores.  It is grueling, physically demanding work not to mention the constant danger involved.  And I don't want to judge a book by its cover, but you seem more a man of leisure than someone who would be willing to sit in the rain for six hours on stakeout."  He indicates Draco's royal purple button-down shirt, pressed wool trousers which fall to a perfect cuff over his polished shoes and Draco, for the first time, second guesses Brian's suggested attire.    
  
"I assure you, sir, I am."  
  
"But why Mr. Malfoy?  Why not take some other job?  Why do you want to be an Auror?"  
  
Draco had known the question was coming.  No interview is complete without some sort of inane question like this.  And while most applicants would give some equally vapid answer about "this being my calling" and "wanting to make the world a more harmonious place" Draco had spent much time preparing his answer.  He had chosen Auror training over a potions mastery or simple Magical Uni, for an honest reason and now was the time for his future boss to find out why.  
  
Draco crosses his legs in a well practiced manor, reaching for the cufflink at his left wrist.  He keeps his eyes locked with the Chief's and watches as the other man's eyes narrow.  Pulling his sleeve as far back as it will go, Draco sits forward and lays his arm across the Chief's desk.    
  
When the Chief recoils at the sight of the Dark mark, Draco mantains eye contact with the Chief and says in a steady tone,  
  
"This is why I want to be an Auror."  
  
The Chief's eyes scan back and forth between the Mark and Draco's unwavering face.  Then leaning back in his chair, he slowly closes Draco's file.  
  
"You'll find, Mr. Malfoy that we here at the Auror Academy do not offer degrees in redemption."    
  
"I know that, sir.  And redemption is not what I seek.  I took the Dark Mark as an underaged wizard under the threat of death if I did otherwise.  Does it matter that I took it solely out of fear for my own life?  For my parents' lives?  Is that an excuse for having this?  No.  Because I made the choice none the less.  So I know there is not redemption enough in the world for me.  But if I can ensure by fighting Dark magic, that no other child is ever forced to make the same decisions I was forced to make - threatened and coerced at the hands of the next Voldemort..."  Draco pauses, swallowing down the taste of that name on his lips.  "Then I will have done more good in my life than this former Death Eater could ever hope to achieve."  
  
The two men remain frozen for several long minutes, eyeing each other, feeling each other out.  Finally Chief Minor clears his throat loudly and reopens Draco's file.  He flicks his wand over the top and the word "Accepted" appears in big glowing letters on Draco's application.    
  
"Congratulations, Mr. Malfoy.  I look forward to seeing you in September."  The Chief's voice is soft, but unforced.  And when he offers Draco a handshake, there is sincerity in his eyes.    
  
Draco does up his sleeve and prepares to leave, his mind already focused on the cell phone in his pocket and the first phone call he is too excited to make.  But the Chief's voice stops him in the doorway.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, when training starts you feel free to leave all that war business behind you.  I'll make sure all the other students do too.  You've done well."    
  
Draco throat tightens and he nods, incredibly grateful.  And with one last "Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir." Draco nearly floats out the door. 

*

Brian picks up after one ring.    
  
"Yeah? And? How did it go?"    
  
Draco cannot hide the vibrant smile on his face nor does he want to. He hasn't felt this exhilarated in a long time. And the eagerness in Brian's voice only adds to his elation.  
  
"I pretty much kicked it's proverbial arse to the proverbial curb," Draco says, feigning nonchalance.  
  
"Of course you did you proverbial fucker."    
  
The sunlight shining down on the Magical part of SoHo only boosts Draco's mood and he can't help but think that it is shining just for him as he moves through the busy streets.  
  
"God, Brian. I finally did something that I wanted, something just for me. Who knew being selfish could feel so fucking good?"  
  
"Me," Brian says, with a smug snicker. Then he sobers and he says, "Look, I'm about to do something that I don't do very often, so you better listen. Are you listening?"  
  
"Yes, I'm listening." Draco beams.  
  
He takes a deep breath. "I'm really proud of you. You've really accomplished something today. But more importantly, _you_ should be proud of yourself."  
  
"I am, Brian. I really am. You have no idea how helpful you've been through all this. So supportive. Dare I say encouraging? Even borderline sweet?"  
  
"Hmmm...I wouldn't if I wanted to keep my balls intact."    
  
An easy laugh bubbles up from Draco's chest at Brian's caustic tones. Yet for all the sarcasm, Draco's round-about statement of thanks does not go unnoticed by Brian. Nor unappreciated.    
  
"Fuck I wish I could see you right now," Draco says quickly as he slips past a family of magical folk fighting in brash New York accents as he makes his way through the storage closet at the back of the record store. "You do realize how much faster I could be back in Pittsburgh if you simply let me apparate back, yes?"  
  
"Yes, but's that's not part of the deal. You got to show me your preferred method of travel when you yanked me to England with that portpass - "  
  
"Portkey."  
  
"Whatever the fuck and now you get to experience mine." When his statement is met with obstinate silence, Brian continues. "You're flying first class, Draco. I promise even your most delicate, Malfoy sensibilities will go unperturbed."  
  
"Perhaps. But it all just seems like such an ordeal. I mean first I have to get a cab to get to the airport. And then I have to go through 'security' whatever the hell that is...I mean, obviously, I can assume what it is but....shit...are they going to let me keep my wand? Because I can't put that in my luggage. It's incredibly fragile and I don't have it's carrying case and would worry that it would break. I mean...do you have any idea what that wand has done? I don't think I ever told you about the end of the war and how..."  
  
Draco stops short. He had been so caught up in his rambling that he hadn't noticed the tall, poised figure leaning against a bike rack at the end of the block until he was nearly next to him. The figure's long legs are crossed casually in front of him, a cigarette held lightly between two fingers and a massive smirk on his perfect lips.    
  
"What are you doing here?" Draco asks, staring dumbly.    
  
"You didn't think I'd make you fly back by yourself did you?" Brian asks, pushing himself off the rack and closing his phone. Draco sputters, unable to find any words that make sense.    
  
"I...but....I don't understand," Draco says dumbly, pointing at Brian.  
  
"You can hang your phone up now, you know," Brian says, gesturing to where Draco's phone is still at his ear. The blond hastily snaps it shut, glowering.    
  
"But you're in Pittsburgh."    
  
Brian pats his chest and looks at the front and back of his hands then turns his eyes upward, squinting at the skyline. "Last time I checked, I was here... in New York...waiting for you." Brian rocks back on his heels and rolls his lips inward, assuming that typical Kinney stance that is flirtatious and inadvertently bashful all at once.  
  
Draco cannot resist and covers the last several yards between them at a run, throwing his arms around Brian's neck when he reaches him. Brian tucks his head into Draco's neck, wrapping his arms tight around his waist, a small noise of contentment forming at the back of throat.    
  
Draco lets his hands run over Brian's arms, the skin an ever warmer shade of gold with three more week of summer sun. He takes in the healthy glow in Brian's cheeks, the small wrinkles near his eyes that deepen as he smiles back at him that Brian would be mortified to know where there. And then Brian's fingers are at his jaw, angling his head just so, to achieve the perfect kiss.    
  
A rush of static skitters over his skin when their lips meet. The simple touch that does such desperate things to his insides. The acrid taste of cigarettes on Brian's lips is washed away by a sweep of his tongue replaced by the bright taste of him. Draco savors everything: the sound of Brian's breath catching in his throat. The short hairs at the nape of his neck - spiky from a recent cut. The too warm press of his body in the afternoon sun. Brian is everything he remembered. Passionate, sensual, beautiful. He is everything Draco had imagined all those weeks alone and yet even better because he is real. He is here. He is now.  
  
"I missed you," Draco breathes into the small space created between their touching foreheads after the kiss breaks. Brian pulls Draco's hips even closer, letting Draco feel just how much he missed him. His cock doesn't get this hard for anyone else and Draco knows it.    
  
Draco wants nothing more than to push his growing arousal back against Brian's and simply let go. To feel the mad sort of release he has only ever experienced with Brian. But he is suddenly aware of the fact that they are standing on a street corner, in the middle of New York City, in broad day light. And that perhaps this is not the best place for that.   
  
So he whines softly, disengaging his body from Brian's. He straightens his spine, willing his cock to hold out just a bit longer. Pleased when he sees the flush high on Brian's cheeks. A sign of his own want.   
  
"You're quite sure you won't let me apparate us back?" Draco begs, one last time.  
  
Brian takes a deep breath, then shakes his head. "Plane it is. Besdies, there's another muggle phenomenon that I wanted to introduce you to: it's called the Mile High Club." 


	3. Chapter 3

Draco's body is tired.  His limbs ache from the stresses of his nearly thirty-six hour day.  The sheets of a familiar bed beneath him feel like heaven; soft clouds of Egyptian cotton just willing him to drift away.  
  
Yet, he is nowhere ready for sleep.   
  
Their airborne encounter, where he and Brian had rutted and gasped their way to orgasm within the small confines of the bathroom, had been deliciously delinquent but only enough to take the edge off his need.    
  
_This_  is what he truly needs.  To lay back and let his body be undone.  Unfolded.  To feel desperation and satisfaction in such equal measure.  This is how it is to be made love to by Brian Kinney.  It is to wish for the coursing brilliance of completion while secretly hoping it never comes.  
  
Brian's mouth makes work of Draco's most private places.  Enveloping lips against cock, fluttering tongue against hole, whispered words of need pressed against those places where he will pluck that pleasure from.     
  
Brian's hands fan out across Draco's flat chest, moving from collar bone to hips and back again.  Sweeping across hard nipples and the rumble of ribs.  He cannot stop touching Draco's skin, feeling the newly developed musculature that hides underneath.  Draco has gotten stronger, more toned.  His body which had alway been thin, almost spare, is now muscle tight and hard.  Brian had not realized the passage of their time apart until he could feel the affects of it on his lover's body.  
  
Brian works his way back up Draco's body, inhaling slowly, deeply.  Drawing in the scent of him.  He lets his full weight sink against Draco's body as he cups the other man's face and kisses him deeply.  He pulls away to look down on his flushed face, his eyes metallic and silver, glinting in the blue lights over the bed.  
  
_I should have known_ , Brian thinks, as Draco smiles up at him.   _I should have known he was different.  Just from those fucking eyes._  
  
"Get my wand.  I need you inside me."  Draco says breathlessly.  
  
Brian sucks the thin skin of Draco's neck, leaving a small, red mark on his pale skin,  before getting out of bed to rummage through the pile of clothes on the floor.  
  
The wand is nothing more than a stick of wood in Brian's Muggle hands, yet he has seen it work and so handles it carefully.  He turns back to the bed, looking at Draco spread across the sheets, so expectant in his nakedness.  The image registers as one he has seen countless times.  This bed has borne witness to countless waiting bodies, countless desperate sounds.  All of Brian's countless lovers.  
  
Yet there is one thing that has never happened between these sheets and this realization gives him pause.        
  
"Brian?  Hey, what is it?"   Draco props himself up on his elbows, having noticed Brian's hesitation.  
  
"Do you know how many men I've fucked in this bed?"  Brian asks, eyes narrowing.  " _Hundreds_."  He enunciates the word clearly, entirely aware of how callous it sounds.   
  
Draco blinks, watching as Brian moves to the side of the bed.  "Is this supposed to make me feel good about us being about to have sex?  Because if it is, it's really not working."  
  
"I've been with countless men and never once have I not used one of these."  He reaches into his night stand and pulls out a condom with slick proficiency.  
  
Draco gives himself a moment to process his words.  
  
"Never?"  He then asks quietly.  
  
"Not once."    
  
"So that means...?"  
  
"Yeah,"  Brian snorts, a sad, sardonic smile on his face.  He sits on the edge of the bed, glancing over is shoulder at Draco.  "Not many people can claim they've popped one of Brian Kinney's cherries.  But now you know...you're one of the lucky few."  
  
Draco runs his hand over Brian's back in a reassuring manner, slightly unnerved by Brian's candor.  
  
"You could have told me.  Then."  He  offers weakly.  Brian simply shrugs.  "Do you regret it?"    
  
"No."  Brian says hastily, pressing his eyes closed, with a sad shake of his head.  He looks back at Draco intently.  "No regrets."  
  
The two men exchange weak, reassuring smiles.  
  
"But back there at the Manor, being with you like that...it was like some vacation from reality.  Where the real world got put on hold."  
  
"But that is reality, Brian.  The magical world is real."  
  
"I know that.  You know I know that."  Draco nods.  "But now that we're here, in Pittsburgh, in my loft, in my bed...I mean, Christ, I haven't been tested since before I donated sperm to Linds.  And you probably never have."    
  
"Brian, I told you that I can't get-"  
  
"I know what you told me!"  He snaps then takes a deep breath, eyes dropping once more to his hands.  "I've just spent my whole life being safe and I won't stop.  Not now.  Not..."  
  
His blazing, amber eyes meet Draco's.  His pained expression finishes the rest of the sentence.   _Not when it matters this much._  
  
Draco looks at the two objects in Brian's hands.  In his right: Draco's wand.  In his left: the colorful foil of a Muggle prophylactic.  His world and Brian's, side by side.  Almost as if being compared for their various qualities.  Brian naturally puts his faith in what is most familiar.  The honesty of blood work and 99.7% effectiveness rate of latex.  While Draco does the same thing, relying on uttered spells and incantations, passed down through the ages.  And Draco recognizes the greatest obstacle they may ever have to overcome - Brian might believe in magic, but trusting it is something entirely different.  And while Draco has had nearly three years to adjust to all things Muggle, Brian has not even had a month.  
  
_Christ, what a presumptive ass you are, Draco Malfoy.  How many months did it take you to even  get into a taxi or bus without having panic attack? How dare you expect this of him?_  
  
Draco sits, curling his body around Brian's, resting his chin on his shoulder.  
  
"Nothing about this is safe, Brian."  He wraps an arm around Brian's chest, pulling him back against his own, hoping he understands that by  _this_ he means  _us_.  "We're two men trying to straddle two worlds that are not meant to overlap.  We have so much to sort out, you and I.  Boundaries and balancing points and trust.  I don't want to live without magic, Brian.  It's why I told you, so I wouldn't have to hide it from you anymore.  But at the same time, I don't want to force it upon you."    
  
Draco takes his wand gingerly from Brians's finger tips and puts it on the floor.    
  
"So if you need this, then I don't care."  His voice is exceedingly gentle as he snakes his fingers in between Brian's, opening his palm to take the condom from him.  "We'll use these, I'll get tested, we'll be safe.  Because I love you and I'll do whatever you need."     
  
It is only the second time he has said those words to Brian and while they go unreturned, they do not go unnoticed.  Brian turns to him, eyes revealing such affection.  Such relief at being understood so well by another man.  And when Brian kisses him, he says more with the touch of his lips than if he had used them to speak.      
  
Draco lifts up on his knees and kneels behind him. He reaches to his lap where his cock has gone flaccid.     
  
"Put it on."  He breathes, nodding slightly at Brian's open hand as he begins to stroke him back to hardness.  "Because raw, sheathed in latex or in a brown paper package tied up with string, I just want you.  And the sooner the better."  
  
Brian's grateful look morphs into a wicked smile and when he presses him back against the sheets, they once more lose themselves in the feel of the other's touch.

*

Emmett Honeycutt's excited squeal could be used by the United States Military if they ever decided to develop sonic warfare. Brian and Draco are barely through the front door of Babylon a few nights later, when the ear-splitting sound momentarily overwhelms the thumpa thumpa. Seeming to cut through the blaring music and straight to Brian's ear drums.

Seconds later a bouncing, and glittery, Emmett has his arms around Draco. Ted and Michael welcome their wayfaring friend with hand shakes and good natured claps on the back. Drinks are procured and their place at the bar established.

"I'm so excited for you, sweetie!" Emmett squeals again, hand flapping at Draco's shoulder. "Off to the big city to protect the world. Getting to wear those sexy FBI uniforms!"

Draco's quicksilver eyes dart to Brian's, seeking guidance. He has no clue what an FBI is.

Telling the Pittsburgh gang the real reason why Draco was moving to New York was not a possibility as that would involve telling them everything. So Brian had told them that Draco was going to train with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. This seemed the easiest lie to make. Similar to what an Auror does, yet crouched in enough secrecy that Draco could be vague if ever pressed for answers. Brian nods imperceptibly at Draco, encouraging him to go with it and a grateful smile flickers across the blonds face.

"FBI agents don't wear uniforms, Em." Ted says, with that gentle patience he has reserved solely for Emmett.

"Well what do they wear then?"

"Suits." Brian answers quickly.

"Ooo, right and those dark, mysterious sun glasses." Emmett's face lights up once more at the thought.

"You're thinking of the Secret Service." Ted corrects.

"Well, damn it, don't you get to wear anything hot?" Emmett asks, turning to Draco.

With a soft chuckle and one final look at Brian he answers, "Evidently not. Besides I'll be in training for years and won't be doing, let alone, wearing anything special for a long time."

"Hey...doesn't the FBI train in Washington DC?" The groups' eyes all turn to Michael. His words a cynical voice of dissent.

"Well that's what they let you think, isn't it?" Brian answers quickly, leaning in towards Michael, as if daring him to contradict him. His tone is rough where it should have been playful. Biting when it should have been mischievous. And he receives strange, slightly uneasy looks from everyone because of it.

But it is Michael's gaze in particular - the one that seems to say What the hell is wrong with you? - that Brian wishes to escape from when he mumbles something about needing another drink and walks to the opposite end of the bar.

He orders a shot, downing it quickly before indicating for another, bracing himself against the bar and savoring the burn as the alcohol sinks to his stomach. He had thought it would be easier. The lying. After all Brian spends half his life lying. Reinterpreting the truth in his ad campaigns. Withholding the truth about his sexuality from his family. Revealing only select things about his abusive childhood to a trusted few. Even trying to deny his most private feelings to himself.

But this is different. These aren't his lies to tell.

_So what the hell am I doing?_ His answer comes soon enough.

Draco wanders over, resting casually against the bar next to him, turning to watch the dance floor. He says nothing, but Brian can feel the self blame billowing off him. The guilt that it is his fault these false words are coming out of Brian's mouth. The forfeited hope that the time for lies was passed.

Brian turns his head, looking at him from the corner of his eye. Draco is dangerous tonight in his tight tee and low slung jeans. He can afford his own clothes now and their expensive labels suit him. The European styling drawing lustful gazes from every corner of the club. His hips are canted just enough to accentuate their slimness. His eyes narrowed to highlight their ferocity. His blond hair is slicked back away from delicate cheekbones.

_Fuck me_ , Brian thinks, unable look away. _What the hell has happened to you, Kinney?_

That first night he saw Draco, sitting across from him at Woody's, he had been drawn to that enigmatic edge surrounding him. Slightly tragic. Seemingly inaccessible. Void of companionship or joy. Even covered in snow, thin, pale, drawn and withdrawn, Draco had been gorgeous. But there had been nothing more beautiful than watching him shake off that isolation. To see him open up. To watch his wan smiles turn into something more genuine. To be that catalyst that allowed Draco to reconnect to the world and life and lust and happiness and see him positively gleam.

A huge part of that blossoming was telling Brian about the magical world. Sloughing off that final, heavy burden. And in that instant, when Brian had finally seen Draco at his most complete, he had also given Brian one more secret to keep. One more lie to tell. But looking at him now, the lights of the club dancing off his skin, Brian's iron clad heart melts a little and he knows, as hard as the lying might be, it is so fucking worth it.

Draco turns to him then, mouth opening to voice an apology. But Brian is already there, having anticipated the lifespan of Draco's quiet ruminations. He is ready with a fierce kiss to stop the words. A a strong grasp of Draco's shoulder to chase away the moodiness.

"Don't." Brian orders.

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"I do actually." _I understand you too, you know._ "So don't." Brian chances a small smirk, but Draco's face remains obstinately grim. He crosses his arms and looks away, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

He shakes his head, as if disagreeing with an internal discussion and his voice is hollow when he speaks. "I just wish there was some other way."

"Well there isn't. I mean, unless you want to tell them..." Brian offers, gesturing back down the bar towards where Michael, Ted and Emmett stand. Almost taunting him by mentioning the non-option.

"You know I can't do that."

"Well, then get the hell over it." Brian insists, shrugging a shoulder casually. "We're doing what we have to do. So stop freaking out that you are somehow insulting my moral code and come dance with me." He holds out his hand.  When Draco merely stares at it, a small smile only beginning to crack the lines of worry on his face, Brian says, "Don't make me beg. Cause you know I won't."

That does it. Draco laughs softly and slips his hand into Brian's, letting himself be dragged out onto the dance floor.

*

It is only there, lost in the unyielding music and heat of the Brian's body, that Draco finally lets go.    
  
Brian had suffered a momentary gut check but had pushed through.  And in all reality, Draco's concern had probably done more harm than good.  He had experienced, on a much smaller scale, the discomfort and seclusion Draco had felt all his years in Pittsburgh, living with the burden of such a strange truth.  The number of times Draco's resolve had weakened, only to harden once more during that time, is uncountable so he does not fault Brian for his moment of reevaluation.    
  
But the real reason Draco lets his head fall back as he feels the music, is because Brian had said it.  He had said  _we_.  Saying with one little word that the secret about his true nature as a wizard is no longer a burden he has to bear alone.  It is their secret now.  And Draco cannot stop the wry smirk on his lips at the feeling that he just might have stolen something from Brian that he no intention of giving away.  His nameless, inadvertent commitment.   
  
The gang joins them on the dance floor.  Even Ted gets in on the action, dancing with his own, stately grove.  Michael steals Brian away and Draco finds himself dancing with Emmett.  The flamboyant man moving with such unabashed vibrancy, such a joy for life that it is positively infectious.    
  
"Next rounds on me,"  Draco yells over the music, slipping away from Emmett with a quick kiss to his cheek.  He slaps Brian soundly on the ass as he passes, receiving a scandalized look from the brunette.  With a shake of his hips, that even Emmett would be proud of, Draco flashes a playful smile over his shoulder.  Daring him to come and get it.  Brian licks his lips, shaking his head slowly.  A promise that payment will be collected later for that little stunt.    
  
As Draco waits for the bartender to fix their drinks, he reflects again on how strange it is to be so happy with a life like this.  Surrounded by these men, obsessed with the ins and outs of their sordid affairs, passing his nights at bars and dance clubs and another man's bed.  It may not be the life that his parent's had intended for him to live, but it is his.  And as Emmett and Ted sing out the chorus of the current song, terribly of tune but full of heart, a bittersweetness floods his veins.  It isn't just Brian he will miss in New York.  
  
"Well, someone is in a far better mood than the last time I saw him."  
  
Draco's body reacts to the sound of the voice before his mind even has time to put name to face.  His muscles clench as he resists the instinctive urge to flee.  Remembered torment resurfaces and coils in his gut.  
  
_What a fucking joke you are...you make me sick...worthless piece of Death Eater filth..._  
  
Perry.  The wizard he and Brian had taken home, to their bed.  Only to have him use an illegal sex spell on Brian and spew vile words of hate to Draco.  His head spins at being face to face once more with the man who had wreaked so much havoc in his life.  And yet, so much has changed in the interim, Draco cannot help but face him with more confidence.  Allowing him to fear this man less and dislike him more.  
  
"What the hell are you doing here?"  Draco asks, injecting a sufficient amount of venom into his words.  
  
"I could ask you the same thing.  You haven't been here for weeks, not since...well,"  He flashes a smarmy smile.  "You know when."     
  
"I've been out of the country."  
  
"Oh I see.  Went to go hobnob with your old comrades then?"  
  
"Not that is it any of your fucking business,"  Draco hisses,  "But no.  I went home."    
  
"Well that's the same thing isn't it?  Hard to avoid those former allies when mummy and daddy were part of the same, inner sanctum.  Draco Malfoy."  Perry starts haughtily, examining his nails as he speaks.  "Born June 5th, 1980 to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy in Wiltshire, England. Youngest person ever to join the Dark Lord's ranks.  Am I right?"  Draco tries not to show his reaction, but he can feel his nostrils flare, his chest constricting.  How the hell does he know this?  
  
"I did some checking up on you.  Old  _Prophet_  articles.  Court transcripts.  You really were in the thick of it, weren't you?  Even had You-Know-Who living at your house?"    
  
"You always do a full background checks on your one night stands?"  Draco spits, tapping his fingers impatiently on the bar.  "Where the fuck are my drinks?"    
  
"Not usually."  Perry answers, then drops his voice precariously low.  "Only the ones I think should be locked up.  Or Kissed."     
  
Draco stares at him.  Appalled, not by the man's bigotry, but at the gaul he has to actually say these things to Draco's face.  Back handed contempt is one thing, but such overt hatred...that is when things become dangerous.       
  
Draco looks quickly back at the dance floor, eyes flitting to where Brian still dances with Michael.  His arms around the other man's neck, laughing.  He gives Draco a quick nod when their eyes meet but he remains entirely unaware of Draco's situation.         
  
"Ahh, Mister-nine-and-a half-inches-cut."  Perry says, following Draco's gaze.  "I figured he'd dumped you a long time ago, all the times I'd seen him here without you.  But don't worry.  He certainly wasn't lonely, considering all the time he spent in the back room."  
  
Perry turns towards the bar and takes a sip of his drink, thinking he has just doused Draco with a heap of scandal.  But Draco only snorts softly, giving him a crooked smile.   
  
"And tell me, just how many times did he reject you there, hm?"  
  
Perry's winces, as Draco's words land a solid blow but the American wizard's aggression returns quickly.  
  
"What would I want with him?  He disgusts me, hanging out with the likes of you."  
  
"You didn't seem to mind him so much when his cock with down your throat.  And mine was up your ass."  Draco takes a threatening step closer.  Perry holds his ground.   
  
"Well, just as I said.  Your kind isn't good for anything else but being whored out."  
  
They are nose to nose now.  Eyes boring into the other's.  The air between them cackling and snapping with potential violence.  Draco's eyelids twitch, his lip curling into a cliched Malfoy sneer.  All he wants to do is smash that superior grin off of Perry's face.  And since he left his wand at home, his fists will have to suffice.  
  
He gets one good punch in - knuckles pulverizing the supple skin over Perry's teeth - before all hell breaks loose.    
  
Hand to hand combat is not something Pureblood wizards such as Draco are accustomed to.  Gentlemanly disputes were always solved with the more familiar decorum and cleanliness of a duel.  But as he and Perry tumble to the filthy club floor, fists and knees swinging wildly, he can't help but think this feels a damn right better.  
  
His left hand twists up in the fabric of Perry's shirt as he tries to keep the man close enough to hit, while not letting the opposing blows reach him.  He flails his free arm, connecting again and again to any part of Perry's body he can manage.  The other man curses, enraged shrieks and slurs fill Draco's ears.  And they are almost loud enough to drown out the pounding in his ears.  Perry's knee lands squarely in his gut, taking all the air in his lungs with it.  Draco is frozen with panic and pain and Perry takes the opportunity to land a solid punch right on Draco's face.  With a ragged breath, Draco closes his eyes, pushes past the burning in his lungs to growl.  He forces Perry onto his back, ready for the next round of assault.    
  
Then suddenly, they are yanked apart.  Draco's feet slip beneath him as he struggles to find his balance.  Ted's steady hands are on his chest, pushing him back, blocking him from Perry.  And Brian's voice is at his ear.  
  
"What the fuck is wrong with you?"  He hisses, redoubling his death-grip on Draco's belt and arm.    
  
Across the way, a bouncer is holding Perry back in a similar fashion.  His shirt is torn, hanging limply off his shoulder.  A line of blood dripping from the corner of his swollen mouth down his neck.  Draco's hand is throbbing and a dull pain is spreading from his ribs.    
  
"I don't know who it is you boys are fighting over but he isn't worth it,"  The bartender says from where he stands between them.  Arms stretched out like a referee at a boxing match.   
  
"You're right."  Perry says breathlessly.  "He isn't worth shit."  He spits in Draco's direction, his saliva blood stained.  Then with a turn of his heel, he rips his arm from the bouncer's grasp and pushes his way out of the club.

 


	4. Chapter 4

The brick wall outside Babylon bears the brunt of Draco's remaining aggression.    
  
"Fuck!"  He screams, slamming first his fist and then his palm against the unyielding wall.  He rests his forehead against the brick, stealing breath after raged breath from the night air.  He does not cry, though it might be better if he does.  
  
"Draco!"  Brian's voice barks out from the bottom of the club steps.  He looks up and down the alley, finally seeing the ghostly figure against the wall.  He storms over to Draco, face ominous and grim.    
  
"You are damn lucky I know the club owner,"  He fumes.  "He was ready to ban you from the premises permanently."  Brian grabs him by the shoulder, spinning him around and pinning him against the wall roughly, his own anger bubbling up to the surface.  But then any hostility evaporates off his face.   
  
"Oh Christ, you're bleeding."    
  
"I am?"  Draco asks weekly.  He lifts his hand to touch the cut over his eye.  Brian pulls his hand away from the wound, turning it over so Draco can see his knuckles are raw and oozing too.  "Shit," Draco breathes.  
  
The sight of his own blood on his fingers makes his stomach swirl.  Memories of another fight, with a different nemesis.   _And even more bleeding...  
_  
"Who was that guy?"  Brian asks softly, wincing as his fingers hover over Draco's cuts.  
  
"Perry."  Draco swallows.  Brian looks at him, completely at a loss.  "The guy we took home together last month."  
  
"And why did you feel the need to beat the shit out of him?"  
  
"Perry's..."  Draco looks over Brian's shoulder.  The other men milling around the entrance to the club mutter to each other at the scene he and Brian have made.  Giving them a wide berth but curious nonetheless.    
  
"Perry's like me,"  Draco says deliberately.  He makes his face quite plain, making sure his meaning is entirely obvious.  Confusion then understanding then shock flicker across Brian's face.  The former looking very much like the latter.        
  
"Shit," He breathes.    
  
Draco nods, suddenly feeling very cold, even in the still, muggy air.  He lifts a shaking hand to cover his face.  The intense anger melting into intense frailty.   
    
"Take me home."  He pleads.    
  
With a quick nod and a protective arm around his shoulders, Brian ushers him in the direction of the Jeep.  
  
It is not the first time Draco has been on the receiving end of such cruelty.  Not the first time he has dished out his own vitriol.  Intent on hurting his foe just as much as much as protecting himself.  How many times has he tossed off the word Mudblood without a second though?  Pushed all of Potter's buttons to start a fight simply because he could?  Cursed and snarled and sneered because he is Draco Malfoy and that is what Malfoy's  _do_?  
  
They trudge up the stairs to the top floor and Brian opens the door to the loft.  He throws his keys against the counter and pours himself a drink.  Without a word Draco leaves Brian to his own thoughts.  And to his alcohol.  
  
He goes into the bathroom, the only place at the loft where he can close the door.  He turns on the shower, carefully knits his brow back together with his wand and rinses his face of blood.  He slowly disrobes, wincing when he sees all the bruises and abrasions on his skin.  The tender spot over his ribs, already spreading into a large, purple stain.  
  
He hangs his head, blond fringe dripping in front of his eyes, as the pelting water rinses him clean.  Feelings of foolishness and frustration starting to creep in amidst the lingering anger and resentment.  How could he let it get to that point?  To the point where aggression had been the only possible outcome?  Hasn't he grown past that need for control?  Isn't his pride based on something other than superiority now?     
 _  
Haven't I changed?_  
  
"Clearly not enough,"  Draco whispers out loud.  A reprimand and a lament.    
  
The loft has taken on the cloying smell of marijuana by the time he exits the bathroom nearly twenty minutes later.  Brian is standing in front of the window.  Jim Beam bottle in one hand, joint in the other.  The lights from under the kitchen cabinets, the only lights he bothered to turn on, cast him in a mysterious light.  Shadowed and blurry.    
   
Draco sits on the couch behind him, dropping his chin into his hands.  Brian takes a seat opposite him on the edge of the coffee table.  He runs the pad of his thumb over skin above Draco's eye, the spot where only minutes before, there had been a cut and now is only smooth skin.  He shakes his head slowly, still awed by the unceasing wonders of magic.  
  
"He's the reason I told you,"  Draco admits.  His words are garbled, his jaw compromised by it's place in his hand.  So when Brian asks, "Huh?"  Draco sits back against the couch, smoothing his palms over his legs and says it again.  
  
"Perry is the reason I told you I'm a wizard.  Well, part of it anyway.  I suppose you could say he was he final straw."  
  
"How?  We barely talked that night."  
  
"You barely talked.  After we finished and you fell asleep, I got up to talk to him.  Don't know why I bothered..."  Draco grimaces.    "Who am I kidding?  Of course I know why.  I hadn't seen a single other wizard in Pittsburgh in nearly two years.  All I wanted was to talk to someone who would understand what it was like living in this city."    
  
His head drifts to look at the spot where it had all happened.  His memory so visceral.  Recalling the feelings and not just the words.  "But instead all he did was rant at me about how disgusting I am.  A vile human being who is defined solely by which side I was on during the war.  Accused me of using you in some feeble attempt at redemption.  All because of this."   
  
He turns over his arm, eyes drifting down.  Brian watches that familiar sorrowful gaze.  Watches as Draco's eyes darken with self-consciousness.  Brian wraps his hand around Draco's neck and presses his brow to Draco's.  His eyes are close.  Steady and open and they draw Draco's eyes up and away.    
  
"I should have fucking known..."  He whispers.  
  
Brian pulls back. "Known what?"    
  
"That he's a complete and utter bastard,"  Draco fumes.  "He tried to use a Lust Charm on you."    
  
"A what?"  
  
"It's spell designed to control your lover without them knowing."  
  
"When the fuck did he do that?"  
  
"I don't really remember.  He must have been going down on you because I remember pulling his head back and ordering him to stop.  Because if that spell had held, there is nothing you wouldn't have let him do to you.   _Nothing_."    
  
Brian stands abruptly, taking several large steps away and several large swigs of whiskey.  The idea of this spell suddenly makes him feel very squeamish.  It is one thing to see Draco use magic.  But to actually have magic cast upon him, on his body, without his knowledge feels like a gross violation.  He had never even considered that magic like that exists, magic that manipulates so blatantly.  But then of course Draco had said "There is a spell for almost everything."  If there were spells to control a lover while in bed, who was to say that there weren't spells to control someone all the time?  Perhaps even affect their feelings.  Brian's cynical mind immediately jumps to the most drastic possibility.    _It would explain so much..._  
  
"Have you ever used magic on me?"  He asks.  But as soon as he turns to see the wounded look on Draco's face he knows the answer.    
  
"Fuck you, Brian,"  Draco snaps.  "You think I would do something like that to you?  Honestly?  Did you forget that I spent the first six months of knowing you doing everything in my power to hide magic from you?"  
  
"I didn't -"  He backtracks.  
  
"That spell is despicable.  Illegal, to boot.  I would never do something like that to you.  I care about you far too much to use magic like that.  There are plenty of other, less vicious spells that can be used between the sheets - some that are damn near mind blowing - but I'd never use them without asking.  But clearly because some ass-hole, psycho, whose face I tried to punch in tonight tried to use one, and since he's a wizard and I'm a wizard, that means I must have used one too, right?  Right, thanks a fucking lot!"  
  
"Draco..."  Brian starts, but  Draco simply flashes him a nasty glare, stopping any further discussion.  He pushes himself up off the couch and stomps off to the bedroom.    
  
He is sick of feeling pissed off.  Sick of the blood rising in his ears time and again.  He is sick of being accused of things, sick of having his goodness questioned.  He is sick of the night and just ready to sleep.  He considers going back to his apartment, but he is feeling too vindictive to bother.  If Brian wants to make asinine statements, then he can deal with a cantankerous Malfoy.  He rips back the sheets, making sure to settle in the middle of the bed and rolls onto his side with a satisfying humph. 

*

It is Brian's nakedness that wakes him.  Not simply his weight changing the plane of the mattress, or the sudden warmth his body brings.  But the physical connection of back to chest.  Skin to skin.  Their bodies nestling so naturally together one might think they had spent their lives sleeping like this.   
  
It is not yet two a.m.  Not even forty minutes after Draco had stormed off to find respite from the frustrating evening.  He had fallen into a fitful, half sleep in the interim.  Undreaming, unrestful sleep.  So as he wakes, neither his brain, nor his body has forgotten the earlier insults.  But soon soft, lingering kisses start falling on his body, first behind his earlobe, then the nape of his neck, his shoulder.     
  
Draco releases a resigned breath.    
  
They are Brian's apology.  His  _please forgive me_.  And as much as Draco knows he should resist, turn a frigid shoulder to the man who offended him when he was already at his lowest, he cannot.  His body reacts instinctively.  Hungrily.  His breath gathers speed.  His cock begins to ache, half hard in Brian's grasp when his hand slips down past the waistband of his pajamas.          
  
"I'd let you,"  Brian murmurs against his ear.    
  
"You'd let me what?"  Draco huffs.  Than chastises himself when he pushes his ass back against Brian's hard on.    
  
"Use...magic."  The word feels clumsy in his mouth.  Like speaking a foreign language where you knows the word is correct, but lack the confidence to speak it.  "I know the only reason you'd use it is to make me feel good.  To make both of us feel good."    
  
Draco rolls towards him, staying within the circle of his arms and meets his eye.  "You want to feel it Brian?  Feel my magic skitter over your skin?  Course all over you while we fuck?"  
  
Brian tightens his embrace, presses his nose into the crook of his neck.  He inhales.     
  
"Yes,"  He exhales.    
  
With a swift twist of his legs, Draco pins Brian back against the sheets.  He grabs both his wrists between his fingers and holds them over his head.    
  
Their eyes hold for a moment.  Draco's gaze is brittle, almost calculating and Brian keeps his eyes plain.  It is time for Draco to be the agressor.  To exact his sweet revenge.  Draco bends at the waist to kiss him.  Brian eyes close as he becomes distracted by the younger man's lips, not noticing when Draco reaches for his wand.  Maneuvering it with a wordless spell.    
  
The feeling of satin ties, cool and emerald green, snaking around his wrists catches Brian unawares.  His arm muscles flex as he tests the immovable bonds.  Draco sees the panic flicker across Brian's face for one fraction of a moment as he realizes their strength and asks, "Too tight?"    
  
Brian clears his throat, settles back against the pillows and shakes his head no.  Draco smiles.  "Close your eyes."    
  
Brian does, his soft lids fluttering down.  Draco suddenly misses being able to see those blazon orbs.  So bright and brilliant that with them closed it is as if all the light in the room has gone out.  But then matching fabric to that at Brian's wrists begins to coil over his eyes.  His aubergine mask.  Brian gasps, his tongue flitting over his lower lip as Draco sits back to admire his handy work.  
  
Brian Kinney, tied down in Slytherin green.  A breathtaking sight to behold.      
  
"Tell me if this is too much,"  Draco whispers, his palm flat against Brian's cheek, his thumb stroking the fabric near his brow.  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
He presses his thumb against Brian's mouth, pulling gently on the lower lip to open him up.  His thumb slips past Brian's teeth, meeting his undulating, velveteen tongue.  The warmth of Brian's mouth calls him and he once again leans forward to savor his kiss.    
  
He kisses him deeply.  Widemouthed and depraved.  His tongue exploring every last inch of that hollow cave.  He gives no reprieve when Brian begins to groan, his hips lifting off the bed, arms straining against the ties.  It is exhilarating to see Brian fight this lack of control.  The ultimate top, suddenly stripped of all his authority.  How many nights has it been Draco in that position?  Made week under his ministrations?  Teased and strung out and as good as tortured for his amusement?  But now the roles are reversed and it is Draco who controls the game.  This knowledge takes root in Draco's cock, spurring him on to even further mischief.   
  
Draco hovers above Brian's mouth after he finally ends the kiss.  Placing delicate, tender touches on Brian's wet and open lips.  They are so vastly different from the ravishing just completed.  He mutters something softly, his lips brushing Brian's as he does, and the brunette shudders visibly.    
  
"What was that?"  He asks, his voice a trembling flutter.  
  
"Latin,"  Draco says with a smirk.  He slithers down Brian's body, stripping off his pajama's as he goes.  
  
"What'll it do?"  Brian asks.  
  
"You'll see."    
  
Draco has reached his most favorite of favorite parts on Brian's body.  And it is not the place one might think.  Certainly Brian's cock is a master piece.  His legs and toned abs, arousing and wonderful.  But what Draco loves most of all is this small piece of skin between his navel and pubic bone.  It is flat, just like the rest of his abdomen.  Flat, but supple.  A bit of softness on his otherwise rock hard body.  A chink in his armor.  A missing scale on the dragon's hide.  A spot that he, and hopefuly only he, knows is there.   Proof that Brian Kinney is not so super human after all.  
  
Draco lavishes it with his tongue, nipping the skin.  Brian gasps, fists clenching.  Then in a whirlwind asks, "Oh fuck... how?"  
  
"How what?"  
  
 "It still feels like you're kissing me."      
  
"You like that trick?"  Draco asks, only lifting his lips away enough to speak.  Brian simply groans, his tongue too wrapped up in the ghost of Draco's to reply further.    
  
Draco dips his head further down, extending his tongue to dab at the leaking tip of Brian's cock, before slipping it into his mouth fully.  Allowing his tongue to swirl over the swollen head, tasting Brian's heat.  Wandless and wordless, Draco is able to accio a condom without ever taking his mouth away from it's prize.  He opens the package and kneels back to slide it onto Brian.      
  
Draco uses another spell to procure some lube, spreading it liberally Brian.  Even through the latex the lube tingles, emitting, strong pulses and vibrations all along his length.  Brian has felt this form of magic before, but it is still some amazing charm work and will only add to the over all effect.    
  
Draco takes some time to prepare himself, watching the other man's face as he does.  His face is slack and flushed, relishing those imaginary kisses.  A small smile crosses Draco's face, pressing his slick fingers inside himself.  Enjoying their lithe pressure, but knowing they are only a meek precursor of what is to come.  
  
Once he feels the electricity of the magical lube inside him, he straddles Brian's hips then lowers himself, inch by breathless inch, onto Brian's cock.  It penetrates him so deeply, parts of his body are suddenly being touched that have never been felt before.  He gasps and Brian pants.  Both needing several moments to adjust, unprepared for the intensity.  
  
But soon, he rolls his hips.  Nothing more than a gentle oscillation back and forth, round and round.  Feeling the dull, grinding ache within him.  The pace is slow, methodical and fucking beautiful.  Brian moans, a sound so choked and repressed it is nearly a sob.   
  
With a press of his palms to Brian's chest, he casts a Drifting Spell, throwing in a bit of a Thrill Charm for good measure. The Drifting Charm makes the body feel like it is floating, borne up on soft clouds or warm waves.  The Thrill Charm sends little jolts of excitement over the skin.  The feeling of ultimate anticipation.    
  
Draco starts riding Brian's cock.  Thighs working as he moves the shaft in and out of him, controlling the depth. Controlling the pace.  Controlling Brian.  Feeling as the spell takes hold and the impression of weightlessness overwhelms them.    
  
"You feel it, Brian?"  Draco asks.  
  
"Fuck, yes."  He pants.  "I can't...want....need to..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Touch you!"  It is the most desperate he has ever heard Brian.  Almost panicked.  
  
With one cutting swish of Draco's hand, the bonds are gone.  The brunette sits, ripping the green band away from his face, revealing wild, possessive, eyes that are so golden they almost burn.  Brian's arm is immediately around Draco's waist, pressing them together, navel to chest.  While the other hand clenches Draco's neck, forcing his lips to his.  Taking Draco's breath away with his kiss. Together they ebb and flow.  In and out.  Up and down.  Riding the crests and peaks of their illusional ocean.  He feels so close to Brian wrapped as he is in his arms.  So consumed by his lust.  So... _safe_.  
  
And this, Draco realizes is the true magic.  This unspeakable need they have for each other.  The intoxicating nature of their passion.  The ease of their bodies, joining as one.  And the tug in their hearts that keeps them together.   
  
It is Brian's name that Draco shouts, as he comes.  Not some magic spell, but the name of the equally mystifying man before him.  Afterwards Brian holds Draco so tight and so close that his arms tremble, his heart racing.    
  
Finally, Brian falls back and Draco slides off him, cleaning the two of them up quickly with a cleaning spell.  Brian stares at the ceiling,  running his hands over the sheets as if to rationalize that no matter what he is feeling, he is simply lying in bed.  
  
Draco ends the spells.  Too winded to do it verbally.  He feels much colder without the extra magic encircling him.  Or perhaps it is just the sheen of sweat on his limbs has begun to dry.  Brian shivers and curls towards Draco.  Settling in for the afterglow.  
  
"We should do that more often."  His voice is sexy and low when he speaks sometime later.  
  
"Liked it then, did you?"  
  
Brian hums his emphatic answer against Draco's temple.   
  
"I'm still pissed at you,"  The blond mutters, even as he wraps his ankle around Brian's calf, pulling the other man closer.       
  
"I know,"  Brian admits.  He hesitates, then lifts his hand to start carding through Draco's hair.    
  
"Shitty thing to say."  Draco rests his head in the crook of Brian's arm, eyes closed.  He feels warm and contented.  Nothing like how he had felt when he had fallen asleep earlier in the evening.    
  
"Shouldn't have said it."  Brian covers up a yawn.  "Stupid to even think it."    
  
Draco yawns too.  "Think what?"  The fingers that had been coming through Draco's hair, fade to stillness.  Then as if noticing their inactivity, spring to action once more.  
  
"Wondered if this..."  His body shifts lightly against Draco's "...is real or just a magic spell?"    
  
Several soft breaths later, Draco whispers, "Whaddi you decide?"  
  
Silence follows.  Warm and heavy, filled with their chests rising and falling at a slow, even pace.  Their sex weary bodies unable to resist the now intoxicating call of sleep.  
  
And the last sound to be heard in the loft, until the following morning, are two words that tumble from Brian's lips.  And to Draco's half-asleep ears they sound remarkably like, "So real."

*

Sunday morning dawns hot and hazy.  Brian wakes to find his sheets in a pile on the floor.  Kicked off in the middle of the night in an unconscious effort to offset the languid heat that has settled on the city.  Summer's last, stifling gasp.    
  
He sits, pushing his slightly damp hair away from his face and only then does he notice that Draco isn't there.  The events of the previous evening linger strangely in his head and in his limbs.  That foggy, morning-after uncertainty of whether it could have all been real.   
  
The confusion at the bar.  His foolishness in the aftermath.  And the other-worldy, makeup sex that had ended the evening.    
    
Brian throws on a robe and goes out to the kitchen to find Draco standing behind the counter, cup of steaming coffee in his hand.  A full smile breaks on his face as he sees Brian appraoch.  He is naked from the waist up, his blond hair messy and beautiful in the sunlight.    
  
Brian picks up the coffee pot, but then Draco places an already prepared cup in front of him.  Black with plenty of sugar.  Just the way Brian likes it.  All seems to be forgiven now, in the morning hours.   
   
"You're up early,"  Brian comments.   
  
"No you're just up very late,"  He says coyly and Brian snickers.  "Breakfast?"  
  
Brian nods obligingly, settling against the counter as Draco starts moving through the kitchen.  
  
How is it, that this youthful man and the man who, the night before, was on the floor of Babylon, pulverizing another man's face, is the same Draco?  He appears so normal now.  Just his usual, even keel, slightly-too-mature-for-his-age self.  Where had that other side come from?  The fierce, prideful one, capable of irrational anger?      
  
Brian forgets, sometimes, how little he knows about Draco's past. And how dramatically that past must affect him.  He forgets that Draco was part of a war before the age of 18.  Forced to align himself to an evil leader against his will.  And while Narcissa may have told Brian abstract basics about the war, he does not know particulars.  Nothing of what Draco saw or suffered.  Nothing of what still, from time to time, haunts his dreams.  It is much like Draco's vague knowledge of Brian's abusive past - only shadowy insinuations.     
  
Seeing Draco, teeth gnashing, fists flying, had triggered something in Brian.  Flipped a switch.  Reminded him of times when punches had not landed on some stranger but on him.  Pushes and shoves that would leave him waking up at Michael's, Debbie cooing softly while wiping a cool cloth over his brow, with no memory with how he got there.  Times when he was older and could finally stand up to the old man.  Finally fight back.     
  
Seeing Draco engaged in the fist-fight had left him livid.  Not because he felt some concealed truth about Draco's character had come out.  Or because he had thought Draco's actions were unfounded or embarrassing.  But because they had felt so frighteningly familar.  Far too close to something he would do.    
  
They are so very alike.  Both burdened by dark places within.  Why is it then, that those places remain hidden?  Why not share those most terrifying memories with someone who could empathize?      
  
But perhaps that is why the darkest things remain unspoken.   _We both know some memories are not worth revisiting._        
  
When Draco puts a plate of scrambled eggs and freshly sliced melon in front of Brian, he grabs Draco's slim wrist, not failing to note the conicidence when it is his left.  He pulls Draco against him and kisses him ever so slowly.  
  
"What was that for?"  Draco asks, a soft blush filling his cheeks.  
  
Brian shakes his head, keeping his eyes on Draco.  "No reason."           
  
The rest of the day is spent as so many Sunday's have been.  On the couch with a blanket thrown over them, a movie on the TV and a bag of junk food their only sustenance.  The day ends familiarly too.  Dinner at Debbie's with the "family".  Draco cannot believe the size of Lindsay's stomach, her due date fast approaching.  And Brian cannot fathom how happy the mommies-to-be look.  The impending birth of his son or daughter feeling more daunting than anything else.   
  
Monday is frighteningly unremarkable.  The only item of interest is a phone call from Draco around 11 wondering if Brian would like to join him when he goes to New York for the weekend to look at apartments.    
  
"Only if we drive,"  He says, voice adamant.  
  
"But it takes so long to drive...."  Draco whines and Brian can almost see him standing at his apartment, foot stomping the floor indignantly.  
  
"Sometimes you are such a brat."    
  
"Your point?"    
  
"Look, there is no way in hell I'm letting you organize the travel arrangements.  I'll let you drive part of the way."  
  
Draco is quiet as he considers.  Then agrees.          
                  
Tuesday is standard enough.  Breakfast at the Diner with the boys.  A solid 9-5.  The gym.  The sauna.  Then to Draco's for some Chinese take out and a leisurely blow job on the couch.  Draco on his knees, his blond head dipped between Brian's legs.  
   
But then comes Wednesday.    
  
Brian should have known simply from the expression on Cynthia's face that something was up.  She struts into his office first thing in the morning, cocking her hips and tossing her hair as she spreads her hands on his desk.  
  
"You slimy, two timing asshole."      
  
Brian looks up, blinking.  "Never thought I'd hear those words come from a woman's lips.  Care to elaborate?"  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?"    
  
"Tell you what?"  
  
She looks over he shoulder, to make sure the door is closed, but lowers he voice nonetheless.  "That you've been applying for other jobs.  If you think you can just up and leave for New York leaving me, the world's best PA behind, you are sorely mistaken.  You know Ryder would end up promoting Brad to your position and he'd assign me to him.  Or even worse, he'd end up promoting Chad...Chad of the eternal bad breath and wandering hands."  
  
"I haven't been applying for other jobs."  Brian cuts her off.  "There was that one last spring, but you knew about that.  Whatever you're hearing now is just some bullshit that Brad is spreading because he's trying to get a promotion.  And besides,"  Brian cocks his head, plastering a sarcastic smile on his face.  "If I leave I will be taking the world's best personal assistant with me."    
  
"You promise?"  Cynthia asks, dead serious.  
  
Brian rolls his eyes and shrugs, turning back to his computer screen.  "Sure."  
  
"Because there was a message from Eben Shulhoff on my direct line this morning."  
  
Brian lifts his eyes slowly, not quite believing what he just heard.  
  
"Shulhoff?  As in Shulhoff and Teague?"  
  
"The very one."  The look on Cynthia's face is so wily, she could only have learned it from Brian.  "He said he has been so impressed with your consistent, sexy, cutting edge work...that he'd like to meet with you.  In person.  At your earliest convenience."     
  
She puts a small piece of paper on his desk with a ten digit number and leaves with another smirk cast over her shoulder.  Brian picks up the paper, a small flutter passing through him as he dials the 212 area code.  
  
The meeting is set up for Friday.  The details of the trip, including two roundtrip tickets and a room at the Marriott Marquis Times Square, are shored up by the end of the business day.  
  
Brian leans back in his chair as he hangs up the phone, suddenly the smuggest bastard in the face of the earth.    
  
"I got us a flight to New York tomorrow night."  He informs Draco later that afternoon, his head stuck in the fridge.  
  
Draco looks up from where he is reading a 17th century treatise on battlefield healing charms.  Laid out on his stomach on Brian's couch, his legs bent at the knees and crossed at the ankles.  "I thought we were driving.  You told me I could drive," he whines.  "This is not fair."  
  
Brian pulls out a loaf of bread and an avocado.  "Turns out I have a meeting on Friday in the city.  With Shulhoff and Teague.  They offered to fly me out and I wasn't going to complain."  
  
Draco lowers his chin, steadying his gaze.  "The firm that you mentioned before?  The one you think is by far the best in the city?  And has the potential to be the best in the country?"  
  
"Yup."  His knife clatters in the sink.  
  
Draco simply raises his brows, impressed, then turns the next page of his book and says, "Well, that is fantastic news then."  He smiles up at him.  "I'm really happy for you."   
  
Brian returns the look.  Blown away, by Draco's quiet, unflinching encouragement.      
  
The night before his interview, Brian is restless.  He lays awake, listening to Draco's easy breathing and watching the lights of Time Square play off the walls.  It isn't nerves that keep him awake, after all he is master of sales, and he sells nothing better than himself.  No, instead the notion that floods his veins, keeping his heart beating too fast and his brain spinning constantly, is thinking of all the potential the following day holds.  
  
What will it feel like?  To have all his dreams fulfilled?  To achieve all he had ever hoped to achieve?  How will it feel the day he finally leaves Pittsburgh, putting all his past behind him?    Will it be relief?  Satisfaction?  Pure joy?  What will it be like living in New York with Draco?  And when did living with Draco become part of his dreams anyway?    
  
He cannot even fathom how different his life has the potential to become.  And what such complete happiness like that might feel like.             
     
 _Well_ , Brian thinks as he rolls onto his side, fitting his body against Draco's,  _It's time I find o_ ut. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just remember that this fic is taking place in late summer/early fall 2000. Some technology that is quite ubiquitous now was not so common then. You'll know what I'm talking about when you get there. :)

"So, Mr. Malfoy, I think you'll find this apartment very nicely equipped.  It is 1,200 square feet, which is quite large for this neighborhood.  It has two bedrooms, both west facing and two baths, one of which is off the master bedroom and has a walk in shower and a whirlpool bath.  The kitchen has the requisite granite counter tops, stainless steel appliances, yadda, yadda, yadda.  Oh, and of course it's already hooked up to the floo network."  
  
The agent smiles at Draco, showing too many teeth as she does.  Her eagerness to help Draco find an apartment seems in direct proportion to the price range he is shopping in.    
  
He had been surprised to find out how common it is in New York for wizards to live outside the Magical District.  And that there are entire real estate firms that deal with custom built apartments meant for wizards but in muggle neighborhoods.  Evidently space inside the District is at such a premium that prices are astronomical.  Not prohibitively expensive.  At least not for Draco.  But he has other reasons to search in the muggle part of the city.  
  
"What's through here?"  Draco asks as he turns back towards his agent, pointing to a closed door.  
  
"That must lead up to the roof top garden.  From what I hear, the gentleman who lived here previously was quite the potions maker."    
  
"Really?" Draco says, his interest peaked.  "May I go up?"  
  
"Of course.  Tell you what, I need to make some phone calls.  You take your time, look around.  I'll come find you in a bit."  
  
This apartment, the fourth he's seen, is certainly the nicest.  Located at the south east corner of Central Park, the windows frame a surprisingly green view for New York.  The hardwood floors gleam in the late afternoon light.  The open floor plan is comfortingly familar.  From the rooftop garden, which is complete with several terraced plots and a pergola grown over with ivy,  he can see Empire State building to the south and the Hudson River beyond.     
  
In an instant he knows this is home.  
  
 _My mother will hate this place._  Draco thinks, as he turns his eyes skyward and blinks against the light.   _She'll think it's too small and too modern.  But Brian... Brian will love it.  
_  
He has tried to stay focused on his purpose for coming to New York: to find an apartment for himself.  He hasn't wanted to let on just how excited he is about Brian's interview.  About how excited he is at the potential of them both moving to the city at the same time.  But that hasn't been so easy to do.  Not when he has looked at every potential apartment through both his and Brian's eyes.    
  
 _You don't even know if he's going to get the stupid job._ Draco chastises.   _Or if he'll take it or live with you if he does._  
  
But from his rooftop perch however, it is easy to dream.  His mind floods with fantasies as bright and colorful as the city around him.  Vibrant images of a life with Brian in the city.  Living together.  A couple in the truest sense of the word.  There is nothing domestic or homey about the future he sees for them however.  He imagines them living the fast paced, glitzy life of Manhattan's wealthy elite.  Flitting between Magical and Muggle social echelons.  Conquering the club scene.  Remaining young and sexy and desired... _always._     
  
His offer of moving in together has not been revisited since the first time he mentioned it.  Perhaps it had been a careless offer, tossed out in a moment of elation when it seemed he could do no wrong.  It could have been too brash.  Too presumptive.  The giddy daydream of a young man in love for the first time.  Or perhaps it is simply the next logical step in their entirely illogical relationship.  But he can only hope that Brian's silence may turn out to be a good thing.  
  
His fantasy is interrupted by a phone call.  It's Brian.  
  
"Where are you?"  He asks, sounds of the city in the back ground.  
  
"Standing on the rooftop of my new apartment."  
  
"You found one?"    
  
"Yeah, I think so, but who fucking cares."  Draco pauses, before asking the question that actually matters.  "How is it going?"  
  
"Good."  Brian states plainly, then reconsiders.  "Great, actually."  
  
A relieved smile blooms on Draco's face.  This had not been his reaction after his first interview back in May.  He had been rather appatehtic about the whole thing, but the tone of his voice is genuinely excited.  And not much excites Brian.  
  
"Two of the senior ad execs want to take me out for drinks."  
  
"Oh, that's fine.  Go.  Go.  I'll meet you back at the hotel."  
  
"Meet us there.  The Champagne Bar at the Plaza.  4ish.  Dress sharp."  He continues, then hangs up.  
  
Draco scoffs, turning his nose up at the abruptly ended call.   _Don't I always?_  
  
The Champagne bar is one of those places that hasn't changed since the 1930's.  It hasn't changed because it hasn't had to.  The Art Deco style and high quality service, make it timeless.  It's high backed velvet lounge chairs and gleaming marble floors, just as luxurious as ever.    
  
The hostess points Draco in the direction of Brian's table, blushing slightly when he gives turns back to give her a quick "Thanks," and a dashing smile.    
  
Brian stands when he sees Draco, his eyes sweeping over his approaching form with a heavy, aching gaze.  Draco had hopped over to Barneys of New York after finishing up with the real estate agent, picking up the new navy blue suit, which he has paired with the simple, wide collared white shirt he is now wearing.  Clearly Brian approves.    
  
"Hello,"  Draco says, nodding politely to the other two people at the table.   
  
Brian spreads his hand between Draco's shoulder blades.  It is a small gesture but its intent is clear.    
  
 _He is taken.  And he is mine._  
   
"Draco, this is Reid Andretti and Gwen Dryer.  Two of the execs at Shulhoff and Teague.  Reid and Gwen this is Draco Malfoy, my..."  
  
Brian stops, mouth frozen.  Realizing he has just talked himself into a corner.  His eyes flit over Draco's face.  Not panicked but contemplative.  As if he is, in this very moment, trying to determine the answer.    
  
Each passing second seems to last a millennium for Draco.  He tries to keep his face as neutral as possible even as his pulse races.   _Draco Malfoy is my...my?  My what?  Jesus, Brian say something!_  
  
Finally Brian takes in a quick breath and says,  
  
"My partner."  
  
Brian meets Draco's astonished eyes.  They meld with swirling emotions so raw and powerful that Draco is sure the entire room can feel them.  Transmitting unspoken words.  
  
 _Oh my god he said it._  
  
 _Oh my god I said it_.  
  
"Nice to meet you, Draco,"  Gwen says, a polite smile on her face, but nothing that would indicate that she can see the flickering waves of multicolor electricity that are snapping between he and Brian.  
  
They sit, order drinks.  Some ridiculously expensive bottle of French Pinot Noir.  While Draco's brain is miles away, feeling like he has just been hit by a strong stunning charm, Brian seems completely unfazed, chatting and making jokes with his potential colleagues.         
  
Never once did he think Brian would say something like that.  His certainty in Brian's feelings has always been based on his actions.  Relying on certain veiled statements that if you squinted hard enough could be made to look like affirmations of love and commitment.  But Draco had never thought he would hear such words.  So universally plain.  So perfect in their simplicity.    
  
Draco swallows down the lump in his throat and covers a smile.    
  
This changes everything.

*

"So, what is it that you do, Draco?"  
  
The sound of his name snaps him out of his own mind and back to the present company.  He looks up to see Reid Andretti, looking at him expectantly.  Reid is a short, compact man, with dark hair and tawny skin. His lineage is clear, even if Draco didn't know the obvious origins of his last name.  The nose on his face could be nothing but Roman.  It is a kind face though, almost jovial and Draco wonders how a sweet face like that makes it in advertising.     
  
Draco crosses his legs, trying to regain his composure, and picks up his wine glass.  "I'm about to go back to school actually."  
  
"For?"  
  
"Law."  Draco answers.    
  
"Great, just we need.  Another fucking lawyer."  Gwen teases dryly.    
  
"Think... more like the FBI,"  Draco says, smoothly, the coverup story feeling so much easier now.   
  
 Gwen laughs, looking at Brian. "That's pretty exotic then, isn't it?"   
  
"You have no idea,"  Brian answers, monotone.  Draco gives him an equally insipid look.   
  
"Better be sure we're not cooking the books with this one around, huh?"  Reid adds.   
  
"Oh, I'm sure I won't be hunting you lot down any time soon.  Not to worry."  _Unless, of course the next Dark Lord has hired you to help recruit via print and TV adversiting._    
  
"I'm so glad you agreed to come out with us, Brian."  Gwen says, turning her attention back to Brian.  She is a striking woman, not necessarily pretty but thin and sharply dressed.  Her blond hair, nearly as light as Draco's, is pulled back into a severe bun accentuating her ice blue eyes.  She is a woman who is probably called a 'bitch' behind her back with regularity.  But also the type who would let that insult roll off her back, because in a  field still dominated by men, she knows she has to be.    
  
Brian tips his glass in her direction.  "I certainly hope it's not the last time."  
  
"Oh, it won't be."  Reid says, sitting back casually and swirling this wine.  "Teague was walking around looking about as smug as the kitten who caught the sparrow after your meeting.  And Shulhoff, shit...He'll be more than happy to steal you away from Ryder."  
  
"Don't know how much stealing he'll have to do when I'll leave willingly."  
  
"But you must be making a killing back in Pittsburgh, considering the cost of living."  Gwen interjects.  "And being the top exec at your firm, you must be about ready to make partner...Why would you leave that?"    
  
"Isn't that all the more reason to leave?  I'm twenty-nine and already at the top of the game."  He gives them a slick smile.  "I've got bigger cities to conquer."      
  
Draco watches as Gwen and Reid share a look.  It is one Draco recognizes, having seen it on the faces of Death Eaters time and time again during the war.  It is the kind of calculating look two compatriots would give each other when a suspicion is confirmed.  When a plan is ready to be put into motion.  
  
So when Reid leans forward, a conspiring look on his face, and settles his forearms on the table, Draco is not surprised.     
  
"I can already tell that I like you, Brian.  There's no bullshit with you."  
  
Brian's business instincts kick into gear, his eyes narrowing into a piercing stare.  "Fuck no there isn't."    
  
"Which is why we aren't going to bullshit you," Gwen says.  The mood at the table suddenly doubles in intensity.  "All the great stuff that has been coming out of S and T the past few years - the RestWell Hotel campaign, Prince Furniture, H&M print ads- that isn't them.  It's all us.  Me and Reid and our teams."  
  
"Those guys lost their touch years ago, and only since we came on board has anything good been coming out of the firm."  
  
"Do you know how frustrating that is?"  Gwen asks.  "Pulling all the weight and getting so little of the credit."  
  
"Why do you think I'm so eager to leave Ryder?"  Brian answers.  
  
"So you'll understand then, when we tell you,"  Gwen's upper lip curls into a shrewd smile, her eyes stone cold.  "that we're starting out own firm, Brian.  And we want you to be a part of it."  
  
Other than leaning back in his chair, Brian's face remains completely placid.  An icon clad poker face that even Draco cannot read.  
  
Reid speaks, filling the silent air.  
  
"We have office space lined up.  Staff ready to move with us."  
  
"And clients?"  Brian asks.  "None of that other stuff matters without clients."  
  
"We have three accounts that are definitely coming with us.  Several that are leaning towards it, and a few more that have expressed interest in the possibility."  
  
"But this is where you come in to our equation,"  Reid intercedes.  "We've heard that Ryder, and you specifically, are working on getting the Liberty Air national campaign."  
  
"How do you know that?"  Brian asks, bruskly.  
  
"You're some of our biggest competition, Brian."  Gwen states, her voice morphing into something almost seductive.  Laying her compliments on thick.  "Of course we know what you've been up to.  You've been on our radar for months."     
  
"What we want, is for you to get Liberty Air and then bring them to us."  
  
Brian sits up, lifting his hand to halt Reid's talking.  "You want me to create a campaign good enough to get a deal with this Liberty, steal them from Ryder when and if I leave, bypass Shulhoff and Teague, who you two are completely fucking over, and drop them in your laps."  
  
Reid shrugs.  "Think of it is a triple snatch."    
  
"I hate snatch,"  Brian quips dryly and Draco covers a snicker.  Leave it to Brian to infuse sexual innuendo into a conversation, even in the most serious of moments.     
  
Reid's eyes twinkle, but Gwen's simply roll as she brings them back to the subject at hand.  "You wouldn't just be dropping this campaign in ours laps.  If you were able to do all this: get Liberty Air, convince them to leave Ryder and stay with us, then they wouldn't just be moving to the firm Andretti and Dryer but Andretti, Dryer... and Kinney."  
  
All becomes quite still.  The clatter and hum of cutlery and conversation from the other tables seems to fade to silence.  Brian stares at Gwen.  Gwen stares back.  Reid's eyes flit between the two trying to get any sort of read on Brian's thoughts.  Draco, who has felt incredibly out of place for the past ten minutes, simply watches.  In awe of the razor sharp edge of Brian's business prowess.  Finding the push and pull of their business dealings, nearly as fascinating as a Quidditch match, the score tied and the snitch spotted.  
  
"Partner?"  Brian finally asks.   
  
"Partner."         
  
 _Seems to be the world of the day._ Draco thinks.    
  
For the first time since this conversation had started, Brian's nonplussed veneer begins to crack.  He looks over his shoulder, out the gilded windows to the city street beyond.  He runs his forefingers across his forehead, a steadying breath hissing from between his lips.  Shaking his head subtlety, either in disagreement or awe.    
  
"Why? You hardly know me."   
  
"Mutual risk, mutual gain, Brian."  Reid states.  
  
"It's a pretty big fucking risk."    
  
"Look, you hardly know us,"  Gwen says, placating the situation.  "And we hardly know you.  But we know your work and for us that is enough.  There isn't anyone else who does what you do, Brian.  And we want to work with that, not compete against it."  
  
His expression smoothes, knowing a true compliment when he's heard one.   
  
"This city eats advertising firms for lunch,"  He starts softly.  "The number that fail everyday is higher than the number actually in business.  Liberty Air, RestWell Hotels...is that enough to base a business off of?  To turn a profit?  To thrive?"  
  
Gwen and Reid share another one of those conspiring looks.  
  
"I guess we forgot to tell you that one of the campaigns we're bringing with us is Apple Computers,"  Reid says, casually.  "They're releasing a new product this fall.  It's a portable music player called an iPod.  Way smaller than a CD walkman.  Keeps the music in files on a hard drive so can hold fifty times this music.  These thing are going to be huge, Brian.  And if we market them correctly, every person on the planet will want one.  The amount that we can bring in from that campaign alone will be enough - if I were to guess, of course - to double your Ryder salary and then some."  
  
It's not the money that makes Brian want this job so terribly.  It is the thought of being part of something from the ground up.  Of having a position of power to make things work the way he wants them.  Of working with equals, instead of idiots.           
  
It is a risk.  But not a choice.  
  
He looks at Draco once, his eyes softening just enough for Draco to see his mirth and says,  "You should know I'll be brining my own personal assistant."   
  
Reid and Gwen share a much relieved smile, laughing as they stand to shake hands with their new associate.    
  
Draco, glowing with happiness to the very depths of his soul, calls over the waiter to order another ridiculously expensive bottle.  But this time, champagne.

*

There is more champagne later.    
  
Drunk straight from the bottle, poured between laughing lips.  Passed from mouth to mouth on sparkling tongues.   Lapped from between pec muscles and the hollow at the base of the throat.  Mixing with semen and sweat.  Caution giving way to pure bacchanalian excess.  
  
With the entire world of New York City around them, Draco and Brian choose to celebrate here.  In their hotel room, naked and alone.  Bed linens strewn about the room, along with their quickly shed clothes.  Their only motivation is to touch.  Be touched.  To go to that perfect place that they can only find together.  Knowing, there will be time for the city later.   
  
But all is still now.  The raucous celebration given way to a moment of sated repose.  Brian's head is heavy on Draco's chest as he listens to the graceful rallentando of his heart.  And Draco's damp hair between his fingers feels nearly as good as his quivering thighs still wrapped around his waist.  
  
The silence that fills their hotel room is the kind that you can whisper secrets into.  The kind that opens the doors of great honesty.  Total intimacy with your body pressed against the one you trust.  It is a silence so delicate, it almost seems a crime to break it.     
  
Which is why when Brian lifts his head, he does so slowly, trying not to disturb Draco, who appears to have fallen asleep.  His lips are parted slightly, as his breath passes through them.  The rosey flush on his cheeks matches that on his chest.   His hair is a wild tangle, standing out from his head like porcupine spines.  Brian smiles to himself at the comparison.  
  
Draco would never let himself be seen in public like this.  So messy and obviously ravished.  His resumed contact with home, and with his bank account, has had an obvious impact on his outward appearance, making him an even more poised and handsome man than before.  And yet Brian gets to see him like this daily.  Hair unkepmt.  Lips bruised.  Naked in more than just the sense that he wears no clothes.  
  
Something clenches at Brian's heart just then.  Something soft and urgent, uplifting and frightening all at once.  It is a sensation he has begun feeling with more regularity as of late.  But has tried to ignore as it leaves him vulnerable in a way he's never been before.   
  
He fears putting a name to this something.  Afraid that once he does, it might go away.  
  
But whatever this nameless something is, it compels him to lift his hand and brush his knuckles across Draco's cheek.  Two fluttering lids open, revealing the warm, grey eyes behind them.  They meet Brian's and smile.  
  
"Didn't mean to wake you,"  Brian says softly.  
  
Draco stretches and rubs at his eyes.  "You didn't."  
  
"Right."  Brian snarks, rolling off of him and onto his side.  "You're never that quiet unless you're asleep."  
  
"Oh, pish,"  Draco retorts, waving his hand at Brian's face.  "I wasn't sleeping.  Just was thinking."    
  
"About?"  
  
"You."  He blushes.  "I still can't believe you said it."    
  
Brian had know this would come.  He couldn't get away with using the "P" word and not hear about it later.  But he plays the game away.  "Said what?"  
  
"Partner."  Draco drawls out his voice like a cowboy from one of Brian's black and white movies.  Replacing his soft English tones with some put on Southwest twang.  He laughs at his own joke and Brian can't help but snicker at how ridiculously adorable he sounds.  Even if part of him cringes at the fact that now he'll have to explain himself.    
  
Because the truth is, he doesn't know why he said it.  He had been standing there, already so proud to have nailed the interview at Shulhoff and Teague, and then be invited out for drinks with some of his future co-workers.  But then to have Draco, this stunning, worldly, intelligent man, walk in the room for the express reason of supporting Brian had been an intensely powerful moment.  And so when it had come time to explain his connection to Draco, 'partner' had seemed the most appropriate explanation.    
   
"Well, what was I supposed to call you?"  Brian asks, trailing his pointer finger over the slope of Draco's shoulder.      
  
"I don't know.  Your boyfriend?"  Draco suggests.    
  
Brian moans, pressing his face into Draco's belly.  "I hate that word.  What does it even mean?   _Boyfriend_.  Besides, I don't do..."  
  
"....Boyfriends, right."  Draco finishes the Kinney mantra for him.  "But you do partners?"  
  
Draco looks honestly confused, his brow furrowed delicately.  And really he has every right to be perplexed.  Brian, who from the very beginning, did everything to prove to Draco that theirs would not be a normal relationship, skipped right to the end.  Jumped straight over 'dating', dispensed with 'boyfriend' and went straight for 'partner'.  Getting down on one knee and proposing with a diamond from Tiffany's would probably have had the same bewildering effect.   
  
Brian props himself up on his forearms.  Wishing he didn't have to look Draco in the face to say this, but knowing he owes him that much.  "Look, I don't know why I said it,"  Brian says gently, the power of the silence working it's magic on him.  "I  _don't_  do boyfriends.  I don't  _do_  relationships.  I don't do repeats or go after people or fuck raw or meet people's parents or  _bottom_.  And I certainly don't spend the night holed up in a hotel room in New York City on a Friday night when there are countless gay clubs out there just waiting to be visited but evidently..."  Brian stops, taking a deep breath.  "I do all that...with you.  And maybe calling you that didn't make any fucking sense, but it felt right."  
  
Draco's face softens, his head sinking further back into the pillows.   "I'm not complaining."  He trails his pointer finger down the length of Brian's spine.  "I think of you as my partner too... I just didn't..., "  He stops himself.  "It just took me by surprise is all."  
  
"Well, that makes two of us."  Brian mumbles, dropping his head back down to Draco's chest.  Draco smoothes his hand over Brian's hair, cupping the back of his skull and tilting it so their eyes meet.   They share a lazy smile and he pulls him up into a kiss.  
  
Their lips meet softly.  A languid, syrupy intertwining of tongues.  Draco still tastes faintly of champagne and even though their bodies have barely come down from their previous climax, Brian's desire to have him again, to confirm his words with actions, takes hold.  His cock becomes heavy between his legs as Draco arches his hips upwards.  
  
He hardly needs any preparation this time around, already stretched and waiting to be filled from their previous sessions.  So Brian simply must grab a condom, align himself against Draco and himself in.  It is an effortless coupling.    
  
But there is a certain elation every time he is inside Draco.  A surge of endorphins that doesn't change no matter how many times or in what way they come together.  It is similar to those first few times Brian ever had sex.  Seventeen years old, sneaking into the back room of Babylon, some older man on his knees in front of him, desperate to please.  The electrifying rush of having his sexuality confirmed.  That,  _Yes, this is who I am.  I am gay._   That the feel of another man's cock in his hand is what makes his blood run faster through his veins.  That the power dynamic between two equal lovers is what gets him off.   
  
But this time, as Draco pants his name repeatedly in feverish breaths against his ear, it is not the euphoria of a first experience that rushes through him, driving his hips to pump every harder.  But the beautiful certainty that this time isn't the last. 

*

Things move quickly from then on.    
  
Brian throws himself full throttle into the Liberty Airlines campaign, working like he never has before.  Ryder, for all his mediocrity as an ad man, does not fail as a boss, noticing Brian's commitment to the client and taking every opportunity he can to commend him.  
  
"You know, this is really some of the best work I've ever seen from you, Brian,"  He says at the meeting to present the first draft of the campaign.  Brian had made sure he got the best people on his team, selecting the handful of people at Ryder with actual talent.  Even so, he had been incredibly heavy handed in his oversight.  Making sure everything from the copy to the colors of the backgrounds were done exactly how he envisioned it.  He didn't dare trust anyone else but himself with this.  Not with so much riding on it.    
  
Ryder comes to his office later that afternoon, "When this campaign is squared away,"  He says, gesturing vaguely at Brian's desk which is littered with work.  "I think it is time you and I have a chat about your future here."    
  
Brian agrees graciously, but says nothing about where his future really lies.  
  
Draco buys his apartment.  Getting strange looks from the real estate agent and the sellers when he pays for the multi-million dollar home in full.  With a personal check.  
  
"Just how much are you worth?"  Brian asks, as he helps him pack up his old place a few days later.  
  
"There are two things a gentleman never talks about,"  Draco answers curtly, folding a towel into precise thirds.  "His mistresses and his money.  And since I have no women kept on the sly, you're not hearing anything about the money."  
  
"Oh, come on.  You can tell me,"  Brian prods.  "How much cash you got squared away in those Malfoy accounts?"  
  
"We don't keep our money in cash.  All of our liquid assets are kept in gold bars.  In a vault."  He smirks.  "Guarded by goblins."  
  
"Shut the fuck up,"  Brian laughs, throwing a wad of tissue paper at him.  
  
"I'm serious!"  Draco throws the paper back.  "And as far as the amount, you could say we have...enough."    
  
Brian rolls his eyes.  "And to think, the night I met you, you didn't even have enough money to cover your tab."  
  
Draco stands up from where he is kneeling over a nearly full box.  "You remember that night?"      
  
Brian shrugs as Draco's eyes glaze over with memory.  The cold, the snow, the complete isolation that left him feeling even more frigid on the inside.  "I hated my life back then.  Hated being away from home and from magic.  Hated this city and this apartment.  Hated... _myself_."  
  
"I could tell,"  Brian says, somberly.     
  
Draco remembers the first time he had ever seen Brian.  How heavy his stare had felt on him from across the bar.  How gorgeous and unpredictable he had seemed.  And yet, how easily he had connected with him, even from the very first night.  His eyes and his touch, had seemed to reach inside him, touching a deeper part of him.  One he had long forgotten about.       
  
Draco makes his way over to Brian, picking through the mine field of boxes and wrapping materials.  He lifts up on his tiptoes, even though he doesn't have to, and kisses him on the forehead.    
  
"Thanks."  He says, sincerely.    
  
"For what?"   
  
"For... paying for my drinks."  Brian looks at him, much chagrined.  Knowing full well what Draco is really thanking him for.    
  
Draco turns back to the mess that is his living room and sighs deeply.  "Why am I even bothering with all this packing business?  Most of this shit isn't even worth keeping.  I say we have a massive bonfire.  Burn it all and start clean."  
  
"That's a bit dramatic, don't you think?  And besides bonfires fit into far too many stereotypes of your kind,"  Brian says, with a wink.      
  
"Maybe I can give some of it away?  Do you think Michael and Em would want the couch?"  Draco asks, walking over to it.  He trails his fingers over the uninteresting, taupe fabric, leaning his hip against the back.    
  
"You should keep it."    
  
"Why?  It's a piece of crap."  
  
Brian hesitates for a moment.  He had come here the day he found out Lindsay was pregnant.  He had worked himself like a dog, that day.  Trying to keep his mind distracted.  And when that hadn't worked, he had gone straight to the baths.    
  
But the men at the baths hadn't been enough either.  Sure they had been hot and naked and willing, but not what he needed.  So he had left, putting his suit back on, wrinkled and disheveled from being shoved in small, bathhouse locker.  He got in his Jeep, set out on going to Babylon.  But instead, he picked up his phone and placed a call he had spent a week avoiding.  Because he knew once he dialed those ten digits, he would never be able to go back.  
  
Things changed that night, right there on that very couch.  He admitted things to himself.  To Draco.  He had fallen alseep in Draco's arms and found comfort.  
 _  
I am such a fucking lesbian._  Brian shakes his head, trying to clear away his sentimentality and looks up at Draco, who is still awaiting an answer to his question.    
  
"You told me it took you nearly a month's worth of pay checks to buy that couch."  
  
"Yeah.  And?"    
  
"That couch is a symbol,"  Brian states.   
  
"Of what?  How miserable my life used to be?  How poor I was?"  Draco scoffs.  
  
"No.  That you lived through a really shitty time and came out stronger on the other side.  That you didn't let it ruin you."  Brian corrects, his tone quashing Draco's attitude.    
  
The couch had been a definitive choice.  A turning point in his life, inspired by his meeting Brian.  He had been strangely proud of the couch.   _Perhaps Brian has a point_ , Draco thinks, crossing his arms.          
  
"And it just so happens to be the perfect height to fuck you over the back of," Brian adds with a wry smile.  Draco snorts, relieved to hear a much more Brian-like comment.  
  
"Besides,"  Brian says, slipping his hands into his pockets and kicking a stray box with his toe, "You'll need some sort of furniture at the new place until I'm moved out of the loft."  
  
He lets that statement hang heavy in the air for a few moments before lifting his eyes to see Draco's reaction.  The blond is simply staring at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar.   
  
"You mean you...?" He asks.  
  
"Only if you still want me to,"  Brian replies, quickly.  
  
Draco's head falls to one side and he exhales loudly.  "Brian, I... Of  _course_ , I do."  A relieved smile warms his face and he wraps his arms around Brian's waist.     
  
"Nothing has to change, you know."  He says, quite seriously, as he takes a step closer, pulling Brian's body to his.  "There are two bedrooms.  You're still free to do whatever you want."  By 'whatever' Brian knows he means tricking.  But right now, with his arms full of Draco and having just agreed to move in with him, he can't bring himself to think about that.  So he kisses Draco instead.       
  
"Alright."  Draco laughs and hugs him tight.  Feeling giddy and incredibly grateful.  Just when he thinks he has gotten everything from him he ever will, Brian some how manage to find more of himself to give.  So can anyone blame him for loving the man so damn much?   "So we keep the couch.  The only other things I really need are my broom stick and my wand."  
  
"Any other phallic symbols you need help packing?"  
  
"You know I've never thought about it that way.  My two most treasured possessions are total euphemisms for cock."  Draco snorts.  "No wonder I'm gay."  
  
Brian looks at him, aghast.  "Wait.  Did I hear you right?"  A smile teases at his lips.  "Did I you actually just refer to yourself as a homosexual?"  
  
"Well I must be."  Draco lowers his lashes, looking at Brian in an all together coquettish manner.  "I mean, I'm completely infatuated with this amazing man.  And when he fucks me, with that spectacular cock of his,"  Draco swivels his hips, pressing himself deliciously against Brian.  "...It drives me positively mad."  
  
"Hmm..."  Brian says, his hands sinking to cup Draco's ass.  "Sounds very suspicious."  
  
"Doesn't it?"    
  
To answer, Brian's hands shoot to Draco's belt.  Shocking Draco when, in an instant, both his belt and his fly are undone, his pants being shoved over his hips.  With a shared smirk, Brian kicks open Draco's legs, spins him around and presses down, bending him over the couch.    
  
A week later, Draco finds himself in a very similar position - head bowed, ass bared, fingers clenching the edge of the couch, Brian's hips slapping against him - only this time, the view the two lovers see out the window is not a rickety old fire escape, but the sweeping skyline vistas of their new home.   


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I monkey a little with QAF canon here, plus you get some Lindsay and Melanie in this chapter.
> 
> Also - the real dram finally beings!

September 1st.    
  
It is a day associated with new beginnings for Draco.  The day where, across the wizarding world, children make their way to their respective schools.  Laden with trunks filled with fresh quills and clean robes.   Parchment waiting to be unfurled.  Potions kits not yet made dirty.  Traveling from hidden train platforms or on enchanted ships or magical carpets.    
  
Draco can feel the electricity of newness as he wakes up that morning.  Eyes opening well before his alarm.  No transition needed from sleep to wakefulness.  Alert and engaged as soon as his eyelids part.  The bed feels too big and empty without Brian there with him.  But he smiles nonetheless, letting his fingers graze over the sheets where the other man had slept up until a few nights before.  
  
Today is merely orientation at the Auror Academy, but regardless he dresses carefully.  Fully intent on making a good first impression with all his classmates.  As he slips on a pair of brown trousers, with faint blue and white pin striping, he reminds himself that he will most likely be the oldest in his class.  The cut off age is twenty-three, but most people come to the Academy right out of school, and are therefore 17 or 18.  But he is ready to show those young kids how it's done.  
  
 _Besides I have some life experiences that they can't even begin to comprehend.  
_  
As he opens his closet, ready to pick out a shirt, his hand is automatically drawn to one with longer sleeves.  His subconscious wishing for long layers to protect the truth about those life experiences. But he stops himself.  Forcing his hand to close around a light weight, short sleeve number.  
  
His fellow class mates will find out eventually about the Dark Mark.  They will know that it means he was on the "wrong" side during the war.  They might even recognize his name.  But just as Chief Auror Ruben Menlo had said, it is time to put all the war business behind him.  And time to stop hiding.  
  
The Floo network is gridlocked with morning traffic.  The miserable draw back of life in the city.  But he makes it through with plenty of time to spare.    
  
On his way from the Floo corridor to the Auror Offices, he finds himself walking behind a familiar figure.  
  
"Jebediah Reynolds,"  Draco says, falling in step next to him and proffering his hand.  Jeb still looks incredibly out of place in the big city as he had at their interview, but he smiles happily when he sees Draco.  
  
"Draco Malfoy.  Man I'm glad to see you here."  He clasps Draco's hand, using it to pull him closer to speak in his ear.  "My knees feel like they are made out of jelly I'm so nervous."  
  
"Don't be nervous."  Draco claps him on the back.  "The hard part's over."  Jeb looks at him quizzically.  "You already made it here without getting lost."    
  
Jeb lets out a relieved laugh and the two men file into the classroom.  
  
It is a non-descript room.  White cinder block walls, grey specced tile floors.  The chairs are set up in four perfect rows, each chair made from horrifically ugly, pea green plastic.  Draco slides into a chair next to Jeb and the small desk slides into place all on it's own.  Adjusting to the most ergonomic place for Draco's height.   
  
There are about seven other people already sitting in the room.  Some are chatting softly, introducing themselves and getting to know each other.  Others simply sit in their chairs, looking nervous.  
  
A stunning black woman, with pristine mocha skin and countless braids falling down her back, walks in the room.  Her high heeled boots, laced high to her knees with large silver latches, announce her entrance before she turns the corner of the door.  Her clothes are as silver studded as her boots and they cling to curves so delicious, that even Draco's cock takes notice.  
  
Her wide eyes narrow as she survey's the room, he eyes eventually landing on Draco.  She sashays over and slides into the chair in front of him.  He catches a waft of her perfume, something pungent and mouthwatering.  She pivots in her seat and throws her arms across Draco's desk.  The woman clearly has no problem being shy.     
  
Next to him, Jeb audibly swallows and Draco looks at him sharply, willing the man to buck the hell up.  He turns back to her, not at all  threatened either by her exotic looks or her overt confidence. Two can play at that game after all.  
  
"Ruby Moon,"  She says.  "New Orleans School for Young Witches."      
  
"Draco Malfoy.  Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."  
  
"England?"   
  
Draco nods.  
  
"Why are you in New York?"  
  
"Rains too much in London."  
  
One of her thin brows rises.  "Malfoy...  I remember your name from the papers."  He waits for it and like clock work,  her eyes skip over his chest down to his arm.  "You were one of them."  
   
"Clearly."  
  
She laughs, snidely, appreciating Draco's icy poise.       
  
"You happy the fucker is dead?"  She asks, her nonchalant aura finally showing some sign of true curiosity.     
  
"Immensely."  He says slowly, letting his teeth linger over the "s" for emphasis.   
  
She smiles.   
  
"Well, then we'll get a long just fine."  She turns to Jeb, giving him a long, appraising look.  "Who's your friend?"  She asks Draco.  
  
"Je-Jebediah."  The boy answers.  
  
"Pleased to meet you, Je-Jebiah." Ruby says, giving Jeb a smile so sultry, Draco is sure the young man's world just got flipped upside down.   _Welcome to the big city, my little friend_ , Draco thinks to himself.  
  
But all further discussion is interrupted by the abrupt entrance of Chief Menlo.  He apparates into the front the room with an impressive snap, spinning around on the spot once before leaning forward to settle his hands squarely on the long table in front of him.       
  
His dark, penetrating eyes scan the room, stopping to look directly at each one of the students.  Draco makes sure to meet his gaze when he looks at him.  Swearing he gets a miniscule nod of approval as he does.    
  
The Chief is rotund, his face almost jolly, but looming in front of the class room, as he is, his dark robes falling in thick folds, Draco has no doubt that this man who could look down the length of his wand and cast an  _Avada Kedrava_  on an enemy with out hesitation.      
  
"You are not here to become soldiers."  He starts, his voice so dominating Draco sits up higher in his chair.  "You will not be the police.  You won't be investigators or spies or humanitarian workers or lawyers.  No, you are here to become something far more important than all those things.  Because after your three years here at the New York Auror Academy, you will be all those things."      
  
A great clattering from the back of the room interrupts the Chief's speech and he stands up, putting his hands on his hips.  Eyeing the offending individual with a vexing stare.    
  
The room falls to a hush.  Some students gasp.  Other turn and whisper.    
  
"Late on the first day.  Most unimpressive.  Especially for you,"  Chief Menlo says, sounding nearly as intimidating as Snape.    
  
Draco turns slowly in his chair, a sinister smirk on his face as he cranes his neck to see what poor sod would dare be late on the first day.  He will admit to a certain amount of sadistic joy at seeing others get chewed out by authority figures.  Especially when it was Harry...  
  
 _Potter_.          
  
The small hairs on the back of Draco's neck stand up, his skipping heart leaps up to inhabit his throat.  He stares openly at the man, standing there in his simple black pullover and dark jeans.  His hair is shorter than the last time he saw him, and therefore infinitely more tamed, and his glasses are gone.  But he appears taller, broader.  A more imposing figure.  But he has the same damned scar, the same damned earnest face, that same Gryffindorish air of superiority.        
 _  
It can't be.  It's not possible.  It makes no bloody sense.._.Draco thinks, trying desperately to work the logic out in his head of seeing Potter here in this classroom.    
  
But when Potter speaks, it is with a voice so offensively familiar to Draco's ears, that is leaves no doubt in his mind.  "I'm very sorry, sir.  The floo was...and then the hallway...It won't happen again."  
  
"Damn straight, it won't.  Now sit."  
  
Potter sits down at a desk across the room and only then does he look up to see the stunned, silver eyes that haven't left him since the moment he entered.  
  
The healthy glow on his face melts away, replaced by a pallid expression that must match Draco's.  Even from across the room, Draco can see when his eyes widen, his pupils overwhelming his green eyes.  He shakes his head slightly, his expression morphing as he tries to process Draco's presence.  Once he even opens his mouth, as if wishing to speak, before realizing that any other disruption would just dig him an even deeper hole with the Chief, but he doesn't once look away.   
  
And for all his might, Draco can't bring himself to look away either.  He can't focus as the Chief begins to speak, something he wishes he could hear because he is certain it would be inspiring.  But he can't stop staring at the face that he has known his for nearly a decade.  The one who turned down his friendship.  The one who was the brunt of every joke and every insult he could imagine.  The one who he blamed for some much ruin in his life.  The one who he saved.  And the one who saved him.  
  
Finally, several minutes, or maybe hours later, Potter relaxes.  His shoulders sink way from his neck, his fingers uncurl from around the edge of the desk, his face calms.  And with his eyes still looking directly at Draco, the man has the audacity to smile.

*

As soon as they are released for the day, Draco makes a hasty exit for the door, slamming past a few people on his way out.  Simply unable to stomach the thought of being in the same room as Potter for one second more.  
  
 _How am I going to last three years with him?_  
  
But because Potter is the bane of his existence, not a minute later, Draco hears his name being called and the sound of hurried feet from behind him.  He simply presses on.  
  
"Malfoy, will you stop already?"  Potter yells, as he latches onto Draco's arm.  Draco promptly snatches his arm back, turning with a seething look on his face.  But blast that stupid Gryffindor, he is still smiling.  Beaming almost.  One would think he had just been reunited with his best friend, not the man he hated most in the world, save one.  Two if you count Snape.  
  
"Merlin's beard, Malfoy.  Never in a million years did I think I'd see you here.  It's been... ages."  
  
"Not since my trial, I suspect."  
  
"I didn't know you were living in New York."  Harry continues, unfazed by Draco's icy tone. "You'd think our paths would have crossed by now."  
  
"It's a city of 11 million.  The likelihood of paths crossing is actually quite fucking small."   
  
"11 million total.  Not 11 million wizards." His says with a lopsided grin.  "And besides our paths seems destined to overlap."    
  
Draco snorts.  _Ain't that the fucking truth._  
  
"I haven't been living here anyway,"  Draco says, regretting engaging the man in conversation almost imedaitely.   
  
"You've just moved then?"  Potter leans against the near wall, crossing one foot over another in a far too casual manor for Draco's liking.  Draco simply grunts an affirmative answer.       
  
"From where?"  
  
"Pittsburgh."    
  
"Did you like it there?"  
  
"I grew to."  Draco offers, taking a moment of bafflement at Potter's tasteful ability for chitchat.  But then the absurdity of the situation dawns on him and he scrunches his face up into an exasperated grimace.  "What am I doing?"  He mumbles to himself, then turing his ire back towards Potter, asks, "Why are you talking to me?  And more importantly, why the hell are you even here?  Haven't they made you Head Auror yet back in London yet?"  
  
"Obviously not if I'm in a first year class with you. Although I probably could be if I'd stayed, especially now that Arthur is Minister."  This statement, that would seem completely pompous and arrogant out of the mouth of any other twenty year old, is said with no inference of pride.  For Harry, it is a simple statement of truth.  Another aspect of his life that has been laid out for him since birth.  "I guess that is part of why I left, too."  
  
"Couldn't take the pressure, Potter?  Couldn't live up to being everyone's fucking champion?"  Draco snaps.  It was the kind of insult back in school that would have resulted in wands being drawn, in fists being bared.  But this time, a flicker of pain twitches across Potter's face and then he merely laughs.  Albeit, sadly.  
  
"I suppose I came here looking for the same thing you did."  
  
"And what the hell do you know about why I came here?"  
  
"I don't,"  He says simply.  "But I can guess."  Draco lifts one brow, daring Potter to try.  "We're both looking for a more level playing field.  A place where our names doesn't mean quite so much."  
  
"Oh, please,"  Draco says, harshly.  "Everyone here knows who you are.  They might not know your face, but they all know your name."  
  
"Yeah, but to them I'm just some _guy_ who did some _thing_ that was sort of important back in England.  I'm not a hero to them,"  He casts a glance over his shoulder, as some girls from their class titter past.  He smiles at them, but it seems forced.  Then he adds, "To them, I'm just famous."  
  
Draco would be deaf to not hear the despondency in Harry's voice.  The labor and the strain.  Regardless of how he has felt about Potter in the past, he spent most of his youth watching him,  
 looking for weaknesses and ways to torment him and his friends.  But now as a man - and as a man who himself has changed - he does not see these troubles as potential ways to cause the other man harm.  But as a potential reason to empathize.       
  
Just at that moment, Draco's phone rings and he could not have been more grateful.  The direction his thoughts had been going was down right ridiculous.  
  
"Brian..."  He breathes into the phone, turning his back on Potter.     
  
"Did your meeting go late?"  
  
"No why?"  
  
"I just figured my phone would be ringing off the hook as soon as the clock struck four."  Draco smiles at little at Brian's jab at Draco's own predictability.  But then he remembers that the reason for his tardiness is still standing behind him, and this thought wipes his face clean.  
  
"Look, I've kind of been...detained.  Can I call you later?  Will you be at home?"  
  
"Not sure.  Might have to go to the hospital."  
  
"What?  Why?  Is everything alright?"  
  
"It's Lindsay.  She started having contractions about an hour ago."  
  
"Seriously?"  Draco's smile returns, larger than before.  "Well…I-I'll catch the 4:35 portkey to Philly.  If I can make the connection, I'll be back Pittsburgh by 5, 5:35 at the latest."  
  
"No, you won't,"  Brian say sternly. "It takes at least two hours to fly to the Pitts from New York and six to drive.  How would I explain your instant ability to be here?"   
  
"I'll just come and wait at your apartment.  No one will see me.  I can't stand the thought of all of this happening and not being with you."    
  
There is silence as Brian takes this in.  "Thanks, Draco."  
  
"Of course.  Love you."  
  
"Right.  See you in a bit."  
  
Draco closes his phone, pressing it between his palms.       
  
The news must have caused some baby induced high.  His mind spinning distractedly with joy for Mel and Lindsay and the excitement about the new life ready to come into the world, because when Potter asks, "Everything alright?"  
  
Draco actually answers.  "Yeah, it's my boyfriend.  He's having a baby."      
  
Potter's jaw drops.  "Boyfriend?"  
  
Potter's agape expression snaps him from his trance.  "Yes, boyfriend."  Draco sneers, eyes narrowing to slits.  "Is that a problem?"  
  
"No.  Of course not,"  Potter stutters. blushing slightly.  "I just...I had no idea...I learn new shit about magic everyday, but Hermionie never told me that guys could..."  
  
"No, you twat.  He's not a having a baby, his lesbian friend Lindsay who he...Oh, why the fuck am I explaining this to you?  I have to go."  
  
Draco turns and is only a few steps further down the hall from where Potter had first caught him, when the persistent Gryffindor grabs him once more.  His hand is surprisingly warm on Draco's bicep.    
  
"Malfoy, please wait."  There is a sincerity there in his voice and in his startlingly emerald green eyes.  A maturity that Draco has never heard from him before and it gives him pause.  So this time he simply removes his arm from where Harry still has his gentle grasp on it instead of ripping it away.  Then he takes a step back.  Folds his arms across his chest.  
  
"You have sixty seconds."  
  
Potter licks his lips, eyes searching somewhere over Draco's head as he finds the words.  "The whole time we were in there, I just couldn't stop thinking that it's almost ten years to the day that we met.  And that after all that time and all that has happened, between you and me and the…whole fucking world, there is something I owe you."  
  
"You've already given me back my wand.  Already given me and my mother our freedom.  There's nothing you have that I could possibly want."  
  
"What about this?"  Potter squares his shoulders, lifts his chin and thrusts his right hand forward.  
  
Draco is struck dumb.  Frozen.  
  
"Come'on, Malfoy."  Potter starts softly.  "So much time has passed.  The war is over.  We're classmates again.  Maybe…I don't know.  Maybe you and I can get it right this time."  
  
Draco looks down at Potter's hand.  His palm open, offering so easily to Draco what he had denied him all those years ago.  How different would it have been, had that hand been taken?  What  would have changed if he had had Harry Potter as his friend and not as his foe?  Would it have mattered?  Would it have changed one damn thing?   
  
Draco steps forward.  Purposely invading Potter's personal space.  The two men stand so close that Draco can see the flecks of teal embedded in that sea of green, smell the cleanness of his skin.  "You're right, Potter.  A lot of time has passed.  So much in fact that that,"  He jerks his chin once towards Potter's hovering hand, "Doesn't mean shit to me anymore."  
  
He waits only long enough to see the shock register across Potter's face, before he struts down the hall.  The feeling of sweet retribution left in his wake.

*

While the day in New York had been sunny and warm, it is raining buckets in the Pitts.  
  
Draco, alone in Brian's apartment, watches the rain as he waits. Noticing the way it pools at the street corners, rushing off into the gutters.  The numberless drops, landing on windows.  Joining together to form little rivers.  Warping his view of the grey world outside as they flow.    
  
He had arrived at the loft from the Pittsburgh portkey point (the only one in the city - hidden amidst some abandoned freight containers down by the wharf) dipping wet from head to toe.  Even though he wanted to, he hadn't cast an Impervious charm because how strange would it have looked to all the Muggles to see a man, completely dry, hailing a cab in the pouring rain?   
  
"We are  _so_  connecting this place to the Floo Network,"  Draco had said after he pushed open the loft door, looking about as pathetic as he felt.  Brian had simply looked up from where he was lounging on the couch - dress slacks still on, but tie dispensed of, dress shirt rolled up to his elbows - and smiled.  
  
After a shower under a much more friendly form of precipitation, Draco had joined Brian on the couch.  He asked how Draco's first day went, genuinely interested though clearly distracted.  And as much as Draco had wanted to dive into the story about seeing Harry Potter of all bloody people, he knew that now was not the time to be dealing with Draco's issues.  
  
He peers over his shoulder now, his eyes falling on the coffee table behind him.  It is littered, just as it had been when Draco arrived, with various forms of Brian Kinney coping mechanisms: A new bottle of Chivas Regal, several freshly rolled blunts and a little bag, filled with a rainbow of pills.  Brian obviously had every intention of stumbling into fatherhood comfortably numb.  
  
But Draco carries a smug satisfaction as he notes that each one of those vices, each one a favorite that Brian had turned to in the past, are completely untouched.     
  
This was part of why Draco wanted to be here for the birth.  Yes, he cares about Lindsay and Mel, and wants to be there to celebrate the birth of their child.  But he needed to be there for Brian.  Not necessarily because he could take away the panic that lives in the small lines around Brian's eyes.  The worries of responsibility and maturity that rest in his shoulders.  And the far deeper seated fear that Brian has, the one that inhabits his soul and would never be spoken of, that he will be no better than his own father.  
  
Draco wanted to be there so he could be yet another of Brian's favorite vices.  He had curled up seductively next to him, pressing his shower warm body against Brian in just the right ways.  Letting Brian press him back against the couch.  Encouraging Brian's hands and lips to touch and take.  Inviting Brian to use him to dull his mind, instead of something that would truly make him forget.  
  
So when the call had finally come from Melanie that he had "better get his sorry ass to the hospital", Brian had looked at Draco with the same lucid eyes that would take in the sight of his son for the first time.  Eyes that will fill his brain with vivid memories of this night, instead of muddled recollections.   
  
The waiting is miserable, though.  Listless, Draco moves from TV to window.  Kitchen to computer.  His mind never able to stay on one thing for very long.  He is too agitated by thoughts of Brian, that he hardly has even one second to spend fretting about Potter.   _I've made my position clear,_  he thinks once and doesn't allow himself to be bothered by it again.    
  
By 11 pm the rain has stopped and Draco even considers getting in bed.  Who knew labor could take so long?  But finally his phone rings.    
  
"Come."  Is all Brian says when Draco answers.  His voice is breathless.  His tone, delirious.  But Draco can hear the pride in his voice when he says, "His name is Gus."    
  
A quick cab ride later and Draco finds himself in a Muggle hospital for the first time.  White and bright, the air heavy with the pure smell of sterility.    
  
He opens the door to Lindsay's room, surprisingly nervous, completely unsure of what to expect.    
  
Lindsay is propped up on the bed.  Melanie is next to her, one arm curled around Lindsay's shoulders, the other helping her support the bundle in her arms.  There are a few women, lesbians Draco doesn't recognize, sitting in the corner.  But no Brian.   
  
"Draco,"  Melanie says, in sweet tones.  "I didn't know you were in town."  She gets up off the bed, coming over to hug him.    
  
"Brian called me when Lindsay went into labor…I just got in."  Draco lies.  
  
"You want to meet him?"  Lindsay asks.  
  
Draco nods and moves over to the bed, sitting lightly on the side.    
  
"He's so small,"  Draco says.  
  
"He certainly didn't feel small,"  Lindsay says, letting her head fall back against her pillows.  She is  exhausted, but she positively glows.  All the cliches about new motherhood, being proven true on her flushed, porcelain face.  
  
The baby boy is perfect.  Gus Abraham Peterson-Kinney.  Perfect little eyelashes and brows.  Perfect little ears and lips.  A small amount of brown hair of his perfectly round little head.  And Draco can't help but smile.  Amazed by this perfect little human.  
  
"You can hold him if you want."  
  
"God no!"  Draco says, laughing nervously.  "The last baby I was around was myself.  Oh and speaking of… I have something for you."  He reaches into his messenger bag, carefully taking out the parcel, wrapped in delicate tissue.  
  
"It's for Melanie really."  
  
"You didn't need to get us anything."  She says, as she takes it from him.  
  
"Of course I did.  This is evidently tradition in my family,"  He says, as Melanie unwraps the gift carefully, exposing the exquisitely soft, baby blue blanket that had once been Draco's.  "It's called a Father Blanket, though I suppose in this case we can call it the Non-Birth Mother Blanket."  Melanie smiles softly at him and Draco takes a moment, to ponder how strange it is to think of anything about Melanie being soft.  "Tradition says that this blanket helps to form a bond between father and child. That one was mine when I was a baby."  
  
Melanie looks up, a bit stunned.  "Draco, I can't take this."    
  
"You can and you will.  My mother wanted me to give to Brian, you see.  So by giving it to you it helps me out immensely.  Makes my mother happy and keeps my testicles in place from where Brian would have undoubtedly tried to rip them off for me being so sentimental."  All three laugh warmly.  "Besides,"  Draco says, his tone sobering, his eyes looking intently at Mel.  "You're Gus's other parent  You should have it."  
  
Melanie nods, overwhelmed by the sincerity of his sentiment.    
  
"Speaking of the reluctant father, how is he holding up?"  Draco asks, trying to sound casual.  
  
Linds and Mel share a look.  And when Lindsay speaks, she chooses he words deliberately.  "He's doing… better than I expected."  
  
"And he's sober,"  Mel says, a hint of her usual cynicism and general reluctance about Brian finally creeping into her tone.  "But I suspect we have you to thank for that."  
  
Draco shrugs, innocently.  "I don't' know what you mean.  I've only just got here."  
  
"You know what I mean,"  Mel says, levelly.  And Draco does.    
  
"Last I saw him, he was going up to the roof with Michael,"  Lindsay says as she yawns.  The baby in her arms stirs gently, his perfect sleep disturbed by her movement.  Draco promptly excuses himself, saying he should let Lindsay get some rest and go find Brian, but not before kissing Lindsay on the top of her head and brushing his finger tips over Gus's perfectly soft cheek.  
  
Melanie accompanies him to the door.  
  
"Thank you. For coming.  For the blanket…It means…"  She starts, but is unable to finish.  Suddenly threatened by unexpected tears.  Draco simply squeezes her arm, showing her that no further words are needed.    
  
She takes a deep shuddering breath, getting her emotions back in control and leans against the door frame.  
  
"He's calling you his partner, you know,"  She says.  
  
"I know.  And I, him."  
  
She shakes her head, making a noise of disbelief with her mouth.  "I don't know how you've done it, but somehow I think you've made him a better man."    
  
"Oh, I've nothing as heroic as that,"  Draco contradicts.  "I've simply let him be who he is, which is incredibly complex.  But then again, aren't we all?"  
  
Melanie nods, looking at her feet, forced to begrudge him that one point.  Then she looks up at him and says,    
  
"I'm still not sure he deserves you."    
  
For a moment Draco is put off.  He and Melanie have always gotten along well.  Her character connecting with the analytical and pragmatic parts of his brain.  So he is surprised to hear such a mean spirited comment about Brian, the father of her child.  But then he realizes that she means it more as a compliment to Draco's goodness than commentary on Brian's nature.  
  
"We're just going to have to agree to disagree on that point then." Draco says, with a wink and a smile, wandering off down the hallway, in search of his partner.

*

The image that greets him on the rooftop is one that will stay with Draco for the rest of his life.  
  
The wet lights of the city shine on Brian and Michael, precariously perched on the edge of the roof, caught up in a fierce embrace.    
  
Panic mixes with confusion and fear as his eyes take in the scene. His brain reacts without processing and he casts a wordless shield charm, protecting them from any fall over the edge - intentional or not. And only then, when the spell catches and his heart begins to slow, does he see the strange beauty of what is before him.    
  
While Brian is the taller figure, and his frame envelopes his smaller friend, it is clear that Michael is the one holding them up. The one Brian is leaning on. He is the pillar of strength in that intimate moment and Draco falls back towards the door, not wanting to interfere.    
  
He watches as Brian pulls away from Michael, looking him squarely in the eyes, tender and grateful. Michael says something that Draco can't quite hear, something with a smile on his face, and Brian leans down, kissing him softly on the lips.    
  
Draco's heart clenches for a moment. Not out of jealousy. He's seen Brian kiss Michael like that before and knows it is purely platonic. At least for Brian. But he cannot help but be touched by the unreserved love that Michael has for Brian. And Brian, him in return.    
  
Their friendship is effortless, based on years of mutual experiences. All those years watching the other grow, change, succeed and fail. Those are years he'll never have with Brian, years that allow Michael to know him in a completely different way. And Draco had not realized the power of such a friend - _one who knew you when_ \- until now.  
  
The two men separate, teetering carefully as they get down off the ledge. Michael smiles faintly as he notices Draco.  
  
"How did you get here so fast?" He asks as he walks over to where Draco is still hovering by the door.    
  
"Cab."  
  
"I meant to Pittsburgh. You charter a private jet or something?" He ribs.    
  
"Yeah, or something," Draco says evasively, eyes still on Brian. Then he asks more softly, "How is he?"  
  
Michael looks back at Brian, who is leaning his forearms against the ledge and smoking another cigarette, then back at Draco. "He'll be alright."    
  
Then he does something entirely unexpected. He hugs Draco.  
  
Their relationship has always been strained. Tenuous at best. Getting along, but mostly for Brian's sake. Draco still hasn't forgiven Michael for how cruelly he treated him when he first started spending time with Brian. And surely, Michael still hasn't gotten over his issues of envy and dreams lost. But as Draco finally snaps out of his shock enough to lift his arms around Michael, he feels an inkling of mutual understanding. Acceptance. Perhaps even appreciation.  
  
Michael seems to know his place now, as much as that place might hurt him. He knows there is only so far he can go as Brian's best friend. Only so much he can give. He knows that there are things Brian needs now that only Draco can provide. And those things are not purely physical, but emotional too.    
  
Michael steps back, wrapping his hands around Draco's biceps, looking at him with resigned eyes. With a steadying shake of Draco's shoulders, he slips past him and down the stairs. Passing the torch of Brian's care on to him.  
  
Grateful to finally be alone, Draco walks over to Brian. He leans against the ledge of the building just like Brian is and bumps him in the shoulder as a means of greeting. Brian glances up at him, revealing a halfhearted, tired smile.  
  
His face is desolate. That wide-eyed, blank expression of one completely overwhelmed.  Draco reaches into his pocket, revealing one of the joints that had been left unsmoked back at the loft and Brian's face warms. He takes the joint, lights it and pulls a long drag before speaking.  
  
"You are a saint," He says, offering the joint to Draco.    
  
"No," Draco says on his own exhale. The smoke from his lungs hanging heavily in front of him before disappearing in the air. "I'm just a good boyfriend."  
  
Brian takes the joint back, blowing on the glowing tip to ensure it says lit. "That too." He agrees, blushing.    
  
"Gus looks like you."    
  
"You've seen him?"    
  
Draco nods. "He's beautiful. Of course any son of yours would be."  
  
Brian looks off into the night sky, bringing the joint to his lips once more with practiced ease, something Draco can't help but find incredibly sexy.    
  
"Did you watch the birth?" Draco asks.    
  
"Hell no," Brian says, tossing the finished blunt over the side of the building. "I can barely look at pussy as it is, let alone when something the size of a watermelon is being -"  
  
"Ugh, ok! That's enough," Draco says, cutting him off with a wave of his hand and a pained grimace. "I would like to leave any remaining attraction I have to female genitalia intact, thank you very much."  
  
"Good luck," Brian snorts, the drug taking effect, and for the first time that night, the smile on his face is real.  
  
They are silent for a moment. Enjoying the buzz of the marijuana in their veins and the warm evening breeze on their skin. For Brian, it feels good simply being next to Draco. Calming and centering.   
  
It had felt the same way holding Gus for the first time. Mel had made some rude quip about not dropping him, and Brian had responded with something equally snide. But then nothing else in the world had mattered. Gus laying so perfectly still, warm and compact, his body so small but his head so heavy. He hadn't expected the awe. The pride. The closeness to Lindsay. The pure, unfettered love.  
  
Then just as quickly, the panic had set in. The terror. The disbelief that he had landed himself in this situation at all. All the feelings he had expected. Gus was never meant to be anything to him. It was just some jizz in a cup. One more Kinney orgasm, and not even a great one, that he had passed along to a nurse at the fertility clinic. But now Gus is here and he is real and he is amazing and he matters.    
  
Draco's body is equally real and warm next to him. And Brian can't help but make the connection. Draco was never supposed to more than a fuck but now…  
  
"I'm expected to produce an heir," Draco says, bluntly, interrupting Brian's thoughts with his bizarre statement. "At least I was." He continues. "Considering my current proclivities and the reduced state of the Malfoy name, it doesn't seem quite so urgent any more. Not for my mother at least, certainly not for me. It was always desperately important for my father, but mother never seemed to press the issue." Draco smiles lightly, thinking of her. "For as much as she has embraced the Malfoy name, she is a Black through and though and that name…well, it died out a long time ago."   
  
Brian looks at him, always feeling slightly bewildered and out of place when Draco talks about his family like this. "You and your fucking aristocratic lineage."   
  
"It's tradition." Draco says in his own defense. "Familial expectation. Every Malfoy male is expected to have a son. That's been the truth from my great, great, great, great, grandfather right down to my own father. My father was lucky, he loved my mother. And from what she says, he was excited to have me…though I'd be hard pressed to believe that at times." Draco shakes himself off that train of thought, returning to the point.   
  
"But even if he hadn't, even if he hadn't loved my mother, or even liked women in general," Draco says, rolling his eyes for emphasis, "It wasn't a choice. It was an obligation."  
  
Brian listens silently. If he has learned anything about his young companion, he knows that when Draco goes into one of these long stories that seem completely off topic, he always manages to make them completely relevant. And often, very reassuring.  
  
"You haven't told me much about your father, Brian. But you've told me enough to understand why this is all so hard for you. For me to understand what you fear most."    
  
Brian takes a deep breath, shuddering at the sound of Draco's voice. Penetrating his soul with that calm, knowing tone.    
  
"But you've already given Gus more than my father gave me. More that your father gave you."  
  
"How do you figure that?"  
  
Draco turns to him, bringing his body closer, but not enough to touch. And a gentle smile pulls at his pink lips.  
  
"You could have said 'no' to Lindsay. But you didn't." His eyes are glossy and emphatic. "You said yes. You chose to have him. And that choice…it makes all the difference in the world."  
  
"What if that isn't enough? What if nothing I do is ever…" Brian breaks off, scaring himself at how raw his voice sounds.  
  
Then Draco's voice is so pure. So perfect.  
  
"What if it is?"  
  
That which was most thin and delicate in Brian's chest, the meager barricade that had been holding back his tumultuous emotions, shatters to bits. It is surprisingly easy to let those things come apart. Because things are only fragile until they break. Once they do, they are no longer that brittle thing, but something new. So Brian lets his head fall forward. He lets his eyes drift closed. And he lets the tears slip past them.    
  
Then, just as he trusted there would be, Draco's hand is at the small of his back. His thumb is wiping away the tears from his cheek. His arm is strong around his waist and the fingers in his hair are sublime.  
  
Draco chokes back his own tears, focusing solely on Brian and the way his body feels heavy in his arms. And he hopes the world, as he knows it, does not come to an end as Brian Kinney cries.


	7. Chapter 7

September passes in a blur of blue skies and golden hues.  Each day seeming more brilliant than the last.   
  
Draco takes pride in learning all the special places in his new home.  The small patch of floor in his living room that nearly glows when the afternoon sun hits it.  The far corner of the roof top garden that provides the most spectacular night time views.  The unexpected quiet of his bedroom on a Sunday morning, filled only with Brian's long limbs and lazy smiles.     
  
He had almost forgotten how diligent a student he can be.  Thriving on the regime of regular classes and studying.  He earns quick respect from teachers and fellow students alike with his polished, timely work.  
  
Potter, for the most part, appears to get the idea that Draco wants as little to do with him as possible.  In many ways, it is just like it was at Hogwarts: the two boys moving in parallel but separate circles.  Same classes, but different friends.  Same destination, yet an entirely different way of getting there.    
  
"For someone you claim to hate, you sure talk about him a lot."  Brian mentions over the phone one night nearly three weeks into the term.    
  
Draco simply shrugs off the comment because that is how it has always been for him and Potter.  He was constantly aware of Potter's presence back at Hogwarts.  Keeping him on the periphery, but most certainly within view.  Always having a casual tab on his goings on.  And according to Brian's observations, apparently not much has changed since.  
  
Potter seems different though.  Lonely without his entourage of Gryffindor's constantly by his side, but at the same time, this independence seems to suit him.  He looks stronger, and when Draco notes this, it is not in reference to the handsome set of muscles that now fill out his torso and arms.  He looks more confident, more put together. All possibly a result of simply looking older. But Potter still blushes like a fool around girls and he is still completely pants at Potions.    
  
"Potter, this anti-itch potion is so diluted it wouldn't cure a pixy's case of hives, even if she drank the whole kettle."  The instructor says one lesson as he eyes the thin, clear liquid in Potter's cauldron.  Draco stirs the viscous concoction in his cauldron proudly.  Schadenfreude had perhaps never felt so sweet.     
  
But then the next day, Potter comes to class and painstakingly moves his way through the day's potion.  Faltering only slightly and producing a very passable burn salve.   _Progress, Potter.  Impressive,_  Draco had found himself thinking, before shaking his pretty blond head clear of such thoughts.   
  
But then, the entire dynamic upon which their antagonistic relationship is based, the one that defines them as who they are, as Harry Potter Gryffindor hero and Draco Malfoy Slytherin prince, shifts one blustery mid-September morning.    
  
It all starts in Ward Detection and Destruction class, by far the hardest class for Draco, and for most of his classmates.  The delicate weaving of protective barriers, placed on the outside of many Magical homes, is complex and precise work.  Almost mathematical in their construction, but also intuitive.  A delicate balance between relying on one's own magical gut reactions and cerebral calculations. Putting them up can be done quickly if the caster is comfortable and familiar with the spells.  But taking then down can be unpredictable, almost perilous.  If they are taken down too hastily or incorrectly, it can bring the building it was protecting crashing down with it.  
  
"The problem for us as Auror's," Captain Kaila Redwine says, "Is that we don't always have a lot of time to get rid of Wards.  If there is an attack or a crisis situation occurring behind warded walls, we need to be act swiftly.  Working through the wards with the precision of a Muggle surgeon but with the speed of an ace flyer on top of that.  
  
"Let's have someone give it a go, shall we?"  She asks brightly, while all the class members shuffle their feet and avoid her eyes, hoping not to be the one who gets picked.    
  
"Harry.  Why don't' you try…"  
  
"Oh I don't think I can…"  
  
"No, no it's alright…I don't expect you succeed anyway."  She adds.  
  
She casts her wand and four walls and a roof appear in front of them, each surface translucent and shimmering, but an amazing replications of a real building.  Then over the building appear the faint, opalescent lines of the wards.  They are so pale, one wouldn't know they were there unless they knew where and how to look.  Instantly Draco recognizes a few of the wards: a standard alarm spell and a slightly more complex filtering charm, one to let certain people through while repelling others.  But then there is the intricate filigree of wards Draco doesn't even recognize.  
  
"Go on, Harry.  Let's see how many wards you can get down in two minutes."  
  
"Two minutes?"  Harry asks, alarmed.  
  
Captain Redwine smiles encouragingly.  "Times a wasting."  She says, tapping her watch for emphasis.   
  
Potter takes a step forward, clutching his wand with grave determination, easily dispensing with the alarm spell.    
  
"I knew that one,"  Ruby comments at Draco's shoulder.  "But that one there, by the windows…what the hell is that?"  
  
"No idea," Draco mumbles, eyes intently watching as Potter manages to take down the filtering ward, the only other one Draco knew.  He and Ruby share a look, both impressed.  Potter has always relied on luck and gut instincts, so in some ways it makes sense he would be so successful at this.  As long as he moves carefully.  
  
"Good, Harry."  Redwine comments. "Sixty seconds left."  
  
Potter's chest heaves with a large sigh as he redoubles his effort.  His eyes wide and mouth slightly agape as he focuses all his attention on what comes next.  He starts undoing one of the wards Draco doesn't recognize and the walls begging to lurch, a loud creaking sound scaring all of the observers back a step.  
  
"Steady, now."  The captain warns.  
  
"I can't…this one here…I don't know it..."  Harry protests, his voice wavering.   
  
"Think, Harry.  Imagine if there were countless people in side waiting for you to save them."  
  
"Com'on, Potter."  Draco rasps, surprising himself by how adamantly he is rooting for Potter to succeed.  Clearly his whisper had been louder than expected too, because Potter's head jerks in his direction.  His wide, emerald eyes locking onto Draco's.    
  
"15 seconds."  Redwine says, snapping Draco and Potter away from their trance.     
  
Potter turns back one last time, weaving his wand in a complex gesture.    
  
Then with a monstrous groan and a massive amount of very believable shaking, the side wall collapses inward, eventually pulling the roof and front wall down with it,  The class moans sympathetically, disappointed that Harry was not able to succeed.  But Redwine is beaming, Harry clearly having done far better than she anticipated.  
  
"Good work, Harry.  You proved me point entirely.  Harry here, did very well with the first two wards but lost it on the third.  That kind of failure is not an option in a real life situation.  Because if Harry had done that, everyone inside would have been gravely injured if not killed because of him.  It would have been his fault if casualties had been sustained, and that is our risk every time we face wards as complex as those."  
  
The captain means no harm by her comments.  Meaning it to be nothing more than a teaching moment.  There is nothing in her tone that is malicious or critical, if anything it is complimentary.  And she continues on with the class as if nothing has happened.    
  
But Draco can't help but watch Potter's reaction to her words.  He simply wilts.  His face pales.  His shoulders slump.  He is crushed and dejected and ruined.     
  
His reaction seems strange to Draco.   _So he hadn't been able to take down the wards?  So what?_ He did far better than any one else would have and Draco can't remember him ever really caring much about school before.  
  
Nevertheless, Draco keeps an even closer eye on Potter the rest of the day, curious and oddly concerned.  Potter cannot seem to shake his miserable mood.  He is distracted and quiet.  His body constantly curled in upon himself, as if sick or cold.    
  
When Draco goes over to he student bar later that afternoon with Ruby and Jeb, Potter is there sitting alone.  A half empty, warm beer in front of him. His eyes hollow and sightless.   
  
"Is he alright?"  Jeb asks, motioning with his chin towards Harry.  
  
"Don't know."  Draco responds.  "He's been all bent out of shape since Wards class."  
  
"Why?  He was awesome at it."  Ruby remarks and Jeb agrees.    
  
"But it wasn't the fact that the walls fell that had left Potter so upset, but what the professor had said after."    
  
Then it hits him like a ton of bricks. The memory of similar words sending a chill through his veins.   _  
_  
"Why didn't I think of this before," he says out loud.  
 _  
"I now speak directly, Harry Potter, to you."_ Voldemort's voice had been so cutting through the predawn sky.  So piercing.  So pervasive.  Echoing across the grounds of Hogwarts, penetrating every hall and corridor of the castle, perhaps even into the bricks themselves.  His words had made Potter believe his friends were dying because of him.  Because of his choices.  His actions.    
  
And while the situation today had been completely hypothetical, Harry can only see the potential result as the same: death or pain because Harry had not been good enough.  Not been fast enough.  Not done what he was meant to do.    
  
Even Draco heart clenches at the thought of living with that kind of pressure and he does not resist his highly sympathetic thoughts.   _Poor fool.  Still hell bent on saving every last soul._  
  
Draco watches as a fellow classmate, Sean Something-or-other-from-Seattle, goes over to Harry to offer some kind words.  Potter lifts a weary head, giving Sean his thanks and a smile so bleak that it looks like it hurts.  Because Sean can tell Harry to cheer up, tell him that it doesn't matter what happened in class.  But it won't help.  Nothing Sean says can really be helpful, because Sean doesn't understand.  Sean  _can't_ understand.  No one can truly know why Potter is beating himself up so relentlessly, why Redwine's words were like acid applied to his deepest of insecurities.     
  
And the realization dawns on him easily, sweeping through his mind along with images of Brian and Michael's timeless embrace.    
  
 _But I can._  
  
Draco shoves himself away from the table, garnering odd looks from both Ruby and Jeb.  He makes a quick detour to the bar, before pulling a chair up next to Potter unceremoniously and taking a seat.  
  
Potter eyes him strangely, before turning away slightly and sighing.  "Malfoy, I'm really not in the mood for any of your shit right now."    
  
"What shit?"  
  
"Your usual shit.  Come to make fun of me for fucking up the wards.  Kick me when I'm down.  I don't know...do what you _do_."  Draco says nothing to that comment, and instead simply twists the seal on the bottle of Ogden's Firewhiskey open with a satisfying crack.  "What are you doing?"  Potter asks, his voice more weary than anything else.  
  
"I was planning on getting you well and properly pissed."  Draco says, conjuring two shot glasses  
  
"Why would you do that?"  
  
"You've had an awful day.  Isn't this what people do for each other when they've had awful days? Get each other drunk?"  
  
Potter snorts.  "Not when it's you and me."  Draco downs a shot instead of saying anything.  Because if he did, he would have to agree.  He refills his glass and nudges the other one in Potter's direction, who curls his fingers around the small glass carefully.  "I thought you didn't want anything to do with me."  
  
"Well I don't really, but…"  Draco sighs, raising his glass.  He levels his gaze over the top of it, looking at Potter for the first time in his life with something resembling kindness.  
  
"I was  _there_ , alright?  I know why you're completely mental about what Redwine said today.  And I'm the only who does."  The light behind Potter's eyes suddenly flickers, and there is something about that intent gaze, that makes Draco suddenly feel very nervous.  "So…Drink up, Potter.  Here's to leaving the past in the past and all that..."  Draco says, gesturing vaguely with his hand.  
  
"You mean that?"  
  
"I don't know what I fucking mean."  Draco stops, amazed by how much he sounds like Brian.  "But I do mean to get you drunk, so will you just drink your whiskey already?  God, no wonder we aren't friends.  You're completely exasperating."  
  
A smile drifts onto Potter's lips, one so warm and genuine that is is impossible not to return.  "Well," Potter says as he lifts his glass and changes everything, "Cheers."

*

Sunday breakfast for Brian usually consists of a large cup of black coffee with plenty of sugar.  Maybe a guava protein shake if he is heading to the gym later.  Regardless his morning fare tends to be of the liquid variety.  Easier on a hung over stomach.  
  
But this morning, aside from the fact that he is not hung over,  there is also a glorious spread laid out on his kitchen counter.  Sliced fruit, fresh muffins and a quiche that Lindsay is taking carefully out of the oven.  
  
"I can't believe you made quiche."  Brian quips even as he savors the delicious smell of onions and bacon and cheese all mixed together with fluffy eggs.  "Quiche is so… gay."  
  
Lindsay gives him a pointed smile.  "Well then it is aptly fitting, considering present company."  
  
"Hey now, don't go putting labels on Sonny Boy just yet.  He may still be part of the breeder population."  Brian says in his most pretentious politically correct voice.  He takes a moment to rock the car seat gently that is perched next to him on the counter top where Gus is still nestled deep in its protective cushions, fast asleep.  "Though I'm holding you and Mel responsible if he is."    
  
"There are far worse things for our son to be than straight."  
  
"Like what?"  Brian says, pulling a face.  
  
"In pain, sick, unhappy,  _alone_ …"  Lindsay steadies herself against the counter.  "Sorry.  Hormones are still not back to normal."  
  
Brian nods sympathetically, if not a little uncomfortably and decides to change the subject.  "So to what do I owe all this?"  He gestures at the food in front of them.  Lindsay is known for easing the path towards something difficult with food.  "You need money?"  He asks, suspicious.  "I told you you don't have to worry about money..."  
  
"Can't I just make breakfast for you?  I hardly ever see you as it is with how much you've been working and spending half your weekends in New York...I guess I've just missed you."  She says, giving Brian one of those sweet, pouting looks that all those years ago had lured him into her bed on more than one occasion.    
  
Lindsay is beautiful in a very soft, very feminine kind of way.  The kind of beautiful that Brian can appreciate on an esthetic level, but doesn't do much for his libido.  Nevertheless, she is the only woman he has ever fucked.    
  
The times they had slept together back in college, had always been when he was high or drunk or feeling destructive.  Or all three at once.  Sex with her had felt, not good but… _possible_.  And had come oh so very close to ruining everything.  One more time waking up next to her and questions would have needed to be answered.  Questions like  _Why does it keep happening?_  and  _What does this mean for us?  For me?_  
  
Looking back, it was his brief and accidental foray into heterosexuality that secured many of the key ideals of Brian's life.  His unapologetic homosexuality.  His insistence in not regretting anything.  And most importantly his belief in the emotional coolness of fucking not love.  Their friendship, which even then had meant a great deal, could have be been destroyed because they had slept together.  And for what?  A mediocre lay?  Some midsummer madness?     
  
So as Brian leans over the counter and kisses her on the cheek with a quick "Thanks," he can't help but be grateful that she is here, she is queer and they have muddled through the interim together.          
  
After coffee is procured and their plates are filled with food, they migrate over to the living room, spreading out comfortably on the floor, with Gus between them.  
  
"It's too bad Draco couldn't be here.  I haven't seen him since the night Gus was born."  
  
Brian rubs at the back of neck, a noncommittal grunt forming at the back of his throat.  Because the truth is, Draco had been there.  Not five minutes before Lindsay arrived.    
  
As he makes some excuse about Draco having his first round of tests the coming week - a true enough statement - he can't help but let his eyes drift to the gleaming, white marble fire place that now graces the far wall of the loft.      
  
He had left for work on Friday and by the time he got home, there was a new fireplace installed.  The rapid work, without a trace of dust left, had been a serious perk of the magical renovation company Draco had hired.  That night, Brian had witnessed the impossible as Draco had materialized from amongst a flash of green flames, his face beaming as he had stepped into Brian's loft and into his arms.  The crown of his head had been covered in delicate gray ash.  His skin had smelling faintly of smoked hickory.    
  
The hadn't left the loft over the next few days under the excuse of not wanting to bring about anymore suspicion about Draco being back in the Pitts.  Again.  They had alternated between loud, crass fucking and making out on the couch like teenagers.  Ordering in and working side by side on class and work projects, respectively.   The time alone had been a welcome break from their lives.  Just being together had made for a wonderful weekend.  
  
"Is he enjoying New York?"  Lindsay asks, bringing Brian back to the moment.  
  
"Of course.  Why wouldn't he be?"  
  
Lindsay spears a strawberry thoughtfully.  "The big city isn't for everyone."  
  
"Well it is for him.  And it is for me."  
  
Lindsay's face is turned toward the plate in her lap, but Brian can still see her features sadden.  "So you're still thinking about it?  You still want to move to New York?"   
  
Brian stares blankly at her for a moment, flustered by the feigned innocence of her statement, but also the creases at the corner of her blue eyes. The creases that tell him how much moving to New York will hurt her.  
  
"I'm sick of people still thinking this whole 'moving to New York' thing is just some pipe dream I've concocted."  He realizes his words sound confrontational, so he coats them in gentle tones.  
  
"I never -"  
  
"Oh please,"  he cuts her off.  "You and Michael have been the worst of all.  It's not an 'if' Linds, it's a  _when_.  And it's time everyone started getting used to the fact that I am leaving."  
  
She takes in the words, pressing her lips and her eyes together.  Then after a long sigh she speaks.  Softly.  "I know you are.  And it makes sense.  With this job offer you have and Draco being there.  I'd want you to go, I'd want you to be successful and happy….  It's just, you moving to New York wasn't part of the plan."            
  
"What plan?"  
  
"The one we talked about 10 months ago when I first brought up the idea about …about Gus.  I know you never wanted to be more than - how did you put it?  'An unaccredited guest appearance?'  But I for one had always hoped that you'd want more.  That it would be three of us, me, Mel  _and_  you there for Gus.  But if you leave now…he won't even know your voice.  Your face."  
  
Something about this statement makes Brian's blood run cold.  The idea that his son, ( _His son!_  He may never get used to the idea of being a father) might not know him is a strangely horrifying thought to him.    
  
He looks down at Gus and places his hand on his belly, soft and warm under his cotton pajamas.  Brian's palm is so large in comparison that it nearly covers his entire torso.  In his sleep, Gus kicks his small legs inadvertantly, reacting to Brian's touch.    
  
The wish to leave Pittsburgh had been there 10 months before when Lindsay asked him to donate sperm so she and Mel could have a baby.  She had invited him over for a lavish dinner, complete with lobster and a bottle of top shelf Scotch.  Was it really any wonder that he had been so suspicious this morning?  
  
The kernel of desire to leave had been there, because it had always been there.  But actually leaving had not been so feasible as it is now.  Back then, leaving Pittsburgh had felt easy.  There was nothing to keep him here.   Michael, Lindsay, Deb - certainly, but they are adults.  They can make phone calls and get on planes.    
  
But now there is Gus.  Gus who seems to develop a new talent every time he sees him. (Could his eyes focus on Brian's face so easily last time?)  Gus who is so inescapably linked to Pittsburgh.  And who might just be the one compelling reason to stay.  
  
Of course, 10 months ago there had been no Draco, perhaps his most compelling reason to go.  
  
"A lot can happen in 10 months, Linds."  Brian says, desperately soft.  His eyes remain just as soft as he continues to watch Gus sleep.  "Things…that you didn't expect to happen."  
  
"Like falling in love?"  She asks, ready to have her question blown off.    
  
But Brian simply looks up at her through his lashes.  An incredibly complex Kinney stare.  One where you'd need a PhD in Kinney-speak to decipher every emotion resting there.  Annoyance would appear the overarching theme.  But that annoyance is mixed with caution.  Reserve and timidity but punctuated by a question mark.  And deep down, at the very back of his eyes, pure radiant, truth.  
  
The look only lasts a fraction of a second.  Blink and you'd miss it.  But Lindsay doesn't.  And her already hormonal emotions overwhelm her once more as she barely surprises the sob in her chest, so happy is she for her friend.

 

*

 

Brian's office phone starts ringing nearly the second he arrives the following Friday morning.  
  
The first call is from Sam Hollander, the head of marketing for Liberty Air.  
  
"We're really looking forward to seeing what you have for us next week, Brian."  
  
"Hope you're ready to have your mind blown."  
  
"Knowing you? I expect to."  
  
Then there is a call from Gwen.  
  
"Just calling to touch base. We're ready to go public with the new firm, as soon as we hear the latest from you about the Liberty Air campaign."  
  
"Next week, Gwen." Brian say, pinching his nose. "I'll tell you what you want to hear."  
  
"You'd better. You how much we all have riding on this."  
  
Not 15 minutes later he gets a call he had not anticipated at all. One from Dandy Lube Jr. The guy who just a few weeks ago, amidst all the Liberty Air madness, he had pitched a mediocre campaign to, relying on …  _other_  methods to seal the deal.  
  
"A little birdie told me you might be leaving Ryder." He asks, his voice far too familiar.   
  
"Where did you hear that?"   
  
"I have my sources. But just so you know, we go where you go. The kind of attention we received from you…" He laughs a little. "Well, you don't find that kind of client service everywhere."   
  
Brian rolls his eyes, when he finally hangs up the phone a few minutes later. "You fuck a straight client once…" He mumbles, rubbing at his forehead with his pointer and middle fingers  
  
He takes a deep breath, but his chest feels tight. Like it won't expand enough to fill his lungs. Some how this doesn't surprise him though, because all the rest of his body feels tight, too. Wound up. Stretched tight like the head of a drum. His neck and shoulders ache. His blood is racing far too quickly in his veins. Nothing in his life or career has ever pushed him to his breaking point. But on a day like today, when it seems everyone in the world is looking for a piece of his time, he is afraid he might have just found it.  
  
There is so much more than just a potential client riding on his pitch to Liberty Air, slated for next week. And the more he thinks about those other things, the more his chest constricts, his neck aches and his blood panics.  
  
His phone rings again, causing some animalistic growl to erupt from his throat. Until he realizes that it is not the jangling ring of his office line, but the far more pleasant ring tone of his cell phone. And more particularly, the ring assigned to Draco.  
  
"Hey," he says, as he leans back in his chair.  
  
"Hey." Draco replies. His voice is incredibly sexy on the phone. Deep and rumbling and the vibrations hammer away some of the tension in Brian's limbs. "You having a good day?"  
  
"Oh, just brilliant."  
  
"That bad huh?" Draco asks, easily reading Brian's sarcastic tone.   
  
"Nah. I've only been running around like a drag queen with her wig fallen off all day and haven't even gotten to half the work I need to get done. Plus, one of the fuck wits down in the art department - who I begged not to let anywhere near this project - just dropped off the final edition of the copy and there is a huge fucking typo in it, and I am the one who has to fix it."  
  
"Sorry." Draco says simply.  
  
Brian covers his face with his left hand. His finger tips feel cold. "I'll manage." I _don't have any other choice but to manage, after all._  
  
"So," Draco says, dropping the volume of his voice down a notch, indicating that he is perhaps not alone. "I had this wicked dream about you last night. You were fucking me with that huge red dildo you got last week. And I was fucking you with that black one. But we were 69ing at the same time…"   
  
"Quadruple penetration. Hot."  
  
"You have no idea how hard I was when I woke up."   
  
"You should have called." Brian spins back and forth a little in his chair, suddenly aware of a mounting ache in his cock. _What this man does to me…_  
  
"It was three am."  
  
"Ok, never mind."  
  
"So, is it still cool to come around this weekend? All my tests are over. We could go to dancing… Might help with some of that tension you're feeling."   
  
Brian sighs deeply. Nothing in the world sounds better than seeing Draco. Going out for some drinks before, sliding between the sheets and forgetting all this bull shit for a while. Then watch as Draco's pale skin flushes, becoming slick with heat. Tasting those precious moans on his lips. It's only been five days since he last saw him and yet it feels like years. Ages since he has felt that pure ,effortless release that he only feels with Draco. Has only  _ever_  felt with Draco.  
  
"I…" He starts, his voice slightly husky. "Just…can't. I'm just completely swamped."  
  
There is silence on Draco's end of the phone for a moment. "Of course you are. I completely understand. You go… be brilliant and we'll toast your successes and imminent move to New York next week."  
  
"Thanks, Draco. I'll call you later."  
  
In New York, Draco closes his phone, placing it face up on the table in front of him. As the small screen indicating the duration of his call fades to nothingness, he can't stop staring at it. Giving it a curious look, as if the small piece of technology has just done him some offense. Something about that conversation had felt weird, though he can't quite put his finger on why.   
  
A snide snort catches his attention. The student lounge is full of Aurors-in-training from all years, people ready to get their weekend started early, after the first spate of exams finished that afternoon.  
  
Draco looks in the direction of the sound and is not at all surprised when he finds the source.  
  
"Got something up your nose, Potter?"  
  
Harry closes the news paper he had been reading, crossing his legs and throwing one arm over the back of the green leather sofa he is sitting on. His eyes sparkling humorously. "I just don't think I'll ever get used to seeing you use a mobile phone."  
  
"Yeah, well I'll never get used to your hair so…" Potter laughs and Draco smiles back.  
  
Potter's laugh has been one of the more pleasant surprises Draco has recently discovered about his formal rival. It is a sharp, clear laugh. Light and positively infectious when accompanied by that crooked smile Draco never seemed to notice all those years at Hogwarts.   
  
Their relationship has most certainly changed since that day Draco offered the olive branch in the form of a bottle of whiskey. It is not as frigid as it had been and it is certainly friendlier. Though they are by no means friends.  _Yet_.   
  
In addition to the laugh, Potter is equipped with an equally surprising sense of humor. Able to give and take, with ease and quick wit the wry jabs that have become part of their daily interactions. Perhaps if they had learned to take the actual malice out of their insults years ago, they could have saved each other a lot of grief.   
  
Potter wanders over, taking a seat next to him. "Everything alright?"  
  
Draco looks at Potter, with a frown. "Always with the prying…"   
  
That laugh bursts from Potter's lips again. "Asking if everything is alright is not prying. Prying would be 'Hey Malfoy, you just got off the phone with your long distance boyfriend, but instead of looking happy after talking to him you look like your owl just struck down by lighting.'" Potter gives him a long, steady look.   
  
Draco pockets his phone, feeling slightly unsettled at Potter's insight.  _Am I really that obvious?_  
  
"Everything is fine. I've just…lost my weekend plans that's all."  
  
Potter nods. "You could come by mine later, if you like. I'm having some people over."  
  
This idea seems completely perplexing to Draco.  
  
"People? Who people?"  
  
Potter's smiles faintly, clearly amused by Draco's confused state. "Ruby, Jeb. That guy Sean. A few second years. And some other friends of mine who aren't in the program."  
  
"You have… friends?" As soon as the question is out, he knows how ridiculous it sounds. And sound not at all how he had intended.   
  
He didn't mean to question the fact that Potter had friends, but that some of them would not be from the Auror program. Somehow his brain had never put together the fact that Potter simply hadn't gotten off the stand at the Malfoy trial and materialized two years later in his Auror training classroom. There had been life in between for Potter too.   
  
Potter smiles full on as he shoulders his bag. "Yes, Malfoy. As hard as it might be for you to believe, there are actually people in the world who like me. So, my place. Drinks and whatever, totally casual. Round 9ish?"  
  
Draco can only nod, stunned stupid at how life has brought him to the point where his best offer for Friday night plans are for a party at Harry Potter's house.

 

*

 

Harry's apartment is right in the center of the Magical District.  A fifth floor, floo-up, with an ornate, Art Deco entry way.  His place is small, but full of beautiful architectural details.  Draco can't help but appreciate the quality and style of the Potter's decorative choices.  The large brown leather sofa might be a bit too traditional for his own tastes, but it is paired nicely with an Oriental rug and dark burgundy wing-back chairs.   
  
It ends up feeling more like a gathering than a real party.  There is no more than fourteen people there, yet his small apartment hums with good conversation and the soft jazz Potter has put on in the background.  No one gets embarrassingly drunk.  But no one stays particularly sober either.  They drink wine and good, Muggle microbrews.  All acting far more adult than perhaps they actually are.  
  
The group of people Potter has brought together is a fascinating hodgepodge of ages, nationalities and careers.  Jeb and Ruby are there, as are a few students from the second and third year Auror program, who even though they are several years ahead of Draco, are his same age.  But there is also a couple from down the hall; she is an actress, who currently has a small role on a Wizarding soap and he works for a Muggle non-profit.  Then there is the older German fellow with dark eyes, but with a sense of humor that is even more biting than Draco's.  Or even Brian's.  
  
As Potter flits from guest to guest, playing the comfortable host, he never once comes to talk to Draco.  Aside from when the brunet, whose cheeks had already been slightly flushed from wine, had opened the door for him and taken his coat, Draco might as well not have been there as far as Potter was concerned.  Draco can't help but be puzzled by this.  And slightly disappointed.   _Why did he even bother inviting me if he had just planned on ignoring me?_  
  
As the party begins to dwindle, sometime close to one AM, Draco finds himself on the couch with the increasingly amorous Jeb and Ruby.  The two of them had been leading up to this encounter since the first day of class, so Draco slips off the couch silently.  Leaving the two lovers to their moment.    
  
He wanders into the kitchen, intent on dropping off his wine glass, getting his coat and heading for the door.  But instead he finds Potter, wiping his hands on a towel as a sink full of dishes clink softly under a self-cleaning charm behind him.  
  
"Malfoy."  Potter says, gesturing grandly, as if he has just made some new discovery.  "I feel like I haven't talked to you at all tonight."  
  
"Well you haven't."     
  
"I'm sorry.  I'm a shit host."  
  
"No, actually, you aren't.  I had a good time."  
  
"Really?"  His face lights up.  "I'm glad you came then.  Looking for a refill?"  
  
"I was just about to head out, actually."  
  
"Not already?"  He sounds genuinely disappointed.  
  
"Yeah, I mean…everyone else is gone…except Ruby and Jeb, who last I left them wouldn't have known if anyone else were in the room anyway."  He rocks up onto the tip of his toes, clasping his hands behind his back. "I hope you know some good cleaning charms for leather."  
  
A scandalized and slightly mischievous glint forms in Potter's eyes as he sneaks to the doorway to snoop on the happy couple.  Slapping a hand over his mouth to cover his giggle, Potter motions for Draco to follow him through a sliding door on the other side of the kitchen, leading them out onto a small balcony.  
  
There is a wrought iron railing and two bamboo lounge chairs outside.  The lights of the Magical District twinkle around them, with the lights of the city proper off in the distance.  Potter slides the glass door closed behind him, as Draco rests against the rail, taking out some cigarettes.  He offers one to Potter, who declines.  It is a cool Autumn night, just a bit of chill in the air, but it feels refreshing after the countless glasses of wine Draco has consumed.   
  
"Figured we should leave them alone."  He says, coming to lean against the railing as well.  He stands near Draco, but not next to him.  Giving both of them plenty of space.  
  
"It is about time those two finally figured out how much they want each other."  
  
Potter nods.  "Jeb's a lucky guy."  
  
"Yeah, he is."  Draco agrees, pocketing his wand and taking a pull on his cigarette.  "Ruby's fucking gorgeous."  
  
Potter snorts.  "Yeah, like you'd know."  
  
"Just because I'm sleeping with a man doesn't mean I don't know a beautiful woman when I see one.  Or that I haven't slept with women in the past."  Then turning on his most provocative voice he says, "Nor does it mean that I don't know exactly what to do with a female body to make them purr."    
  
Potter pulls back slightly under Draco's overtly sexual remark.  And Draco takes another drag on his cigarette.  Smug and in control.     
  
"There's a half drunk Merlot back in the kitchen.  Seems a pity to waste it.  Stay and finish it with me?"  Potter asks, gesturing to the empty wine glass still in Draco's hand.  With only a flash of hesitation, Draco agrees and Potter slips back inside, returning a few moments later with the bottle and an ash tray.  
  
"Hear anything scandalous in there?"  Draco asks as he sits down, putting the ash try between his knees.  
  
"They've left actually."  Potter says, taking the chair opposite, pouring two healthy servings of the red wine.  "So, my virgin ears are still intact."  
  
They drink in silence for a few moments.  And Draco is torn between thinking about the strange setting he finds himself in and the even stranger feeling of being completely at ease in it.  
  
"You think they'll be together?"    
  
Draco shrugs.  "I suppose that depends on whether the sex means anything to them or not."  
  
"Shouldn't sex always mean something?"  
  
Draco can't help but laugh.  "Yeah, in some fucking fairytale world but in real life…."  Draco leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.  His cigarette, still aglow, resting between two fingers.  "You mean to tell me you've never used your celebrity status to bring home some cute, young thing for a one night stand?"  
  
Potter glares at him briefly at the jab about his fame, then he looks deeply into his glass, the color in his cheeks having nothing to do with the wine.  "I haven't…I wouldn't."      
  
"You aren't still with the Weaslette are you?"    
  
"Don't call her that."  Potter snaps, then adds, "But no I'm not.  That fizzled out years ago."  
  
"Have you been seeing someone else then?"      
  
"Besides my right hand, you mean?"  Potter asks, with a derisive snort.  
  
"You mean you haven't…not since her?"  
  
"Try not ever.  
  
This statement sits Draco back in his seat.  Stunned stupid that one of the most recognizable and celebrated people of their generation is 20 years old and still a virgin.  He realizes how much humility (and drunkenness) admitting that must have taken for Potter.  Especially admitting that to him, who up until a short while ago would have used this information to taunt, ridicule and otherwise make Potter's life completely miserable.    
  
But now Draco simply says, in a quiet voice, "Virgin ears indeed."    
  
Potter laughs softly, a relieved sort of noise when he sees his trust in Draco is still intact.  "How is that possible though?"  Draco continues.  "Back in school... you never did?"  
  
"I was rather busy back in school in case you didn't notice."  
  
"I noticed."  Draco says callously.  Their eyes meet and they make a mutual agreement not to go there.  "But that was over two years ago.  Surely since then...I mean, you're a good enough looking bloke…"  
  
"Thanks, Malfoy, really."  
  
"No, I'm serious.  You must've had chances."  
  
"Of course I have.  I'm not a fucking eunuch."  
  
"Then why haven't you?"  
  
"Because…"  He says, standing hastily.  He then pauses, turning back to Draco with a heavy sigh.  "I don't want it to be meaningless.  I want it to lead to something more, like Jeb and Ruby.  To be special."  
  
"Oh Potter!  Your first time isn't  _supposed_  to mean anything!  And only girls go on about it being special.  Your first time is usually a complete clusterfuck, no pun intended,"  Draco adds, when Potter smiles lightly at his choice of words. "It's when you bumble through it.  You make mistakes.  Perform like a complete idiot.  Then after you've figured yourself and your body out, that's when you can let it mean something."  
  
"So your first time…it didn't mean anything to you?"  
  
Draco thinks of Pansy.  The way her compact, little body had looked as he had loomed over her.  The way her eyes had glinted with a good deal of fear but a great deal of anticipation.  The way she had clutched his shoulder, her muscles tense and trembling until her body had finally adjusted to him, allowing Draco to set a comfortable, though short lived, pace and had melted beneath him.  
  
It had meant something because it had been his first.  And it had meant something because it was Pansy.  But had it meant anything to him beyond that?     
  
"Not really no."  
  
"But isn't it better if it does?"  
  
"Sure, but…it's doesn't mean that your first time has to."  
  
Potter rests his back against the railing, crossing his arms over his middle.  "When did it first mean something for you?"  
  
Draco looks up at him.  His head is haloed by the lights of the city behind him, leaving his face blackened out by shadow, and yet he can still see the curious glow of his eyes.  Potter still holds onto that innocent wonder of sex that only those who've never had it do.  A belief that it must be this miraculous, other worldly experience - which of course it can be with the right partner - but still thinking that they themselves, their own body, would never be capable of such a mystical feat.  
  
His innocence is oddly enchanting.    
  
"That's a very personal question, Potter." He says, taking a sip of wine.  
  
"Well so is grilling me as to why I'm 20 years old and still a virgin."  
  
Draco laughs, nodding.  "Fair enough."   
  
The easy answer would be Brian.  That was the first time he had been able to feel the gradual shift from nothing to everything.  Where he felt the emotions linked to their physical relationship reciprocated consistently and regularly.  Brian has always used sex in lieu of words and it speaks volumes.  
  
But if he is honest with himself, he knows that Brian wasn't the first time he felt something real during sex.    
  
The question is whether Potter is ready to hear about it.  
  
He sets his drink down and wanders back over to the edge of the balcony.  With his eyes looking out across the city and not at Potter, it is easier to say what comes next.  
  
"I suppose I would have to say Snape."  
  
Potter's reaction is aptly absurd.  And much what Draco expected.  Wide eyes and flapping mouth.  To the point where it would have been humorous if he weren't already feeling so somber, with the memories of his former mentor.  
  
"Snape?"  Potter asks only once, any disbelief dashed away by the gravity of the look on Draco face.  "Did…I mean…Were you two…?"  
  
"Lovers?"  Potter nods, swallowing.  "No.  It happened just the once."  
  
"When?"  
  
"Towards the end of the war.  Not a month before he died."    
  
There had been such desperation in both their hearts.  Impulsiveness in their kisses.  Recklessness in their union.  An unspoken understanding that the end might very well be near, so what was the point of holding anything back?  There had been so little for either of them left to lose.   
  
"It was almost as if he knew."  Draco says, his voice hoarse.  
  
Potter places a hand on his shoulder.  A heavy, warm, comforting touch.  One that Draco accepts gratefully.  
  
"I'm sorry about him, you know.  I was there when it happened and…he didn't deserve it."  He takes a deep breath, removing his hand from Draco's arm.  "He was good man."  
  
"Yes, he was."  Draco agrees.  "No matter which side of the war you viewed him from."  
  
A contemplative silence falls over them.  Draco lights another cigarette and Potter tops off their glasses with the last of the wine.  As they drink and smoke and think deep within their own minds, Draco becomes aware of a shift in the air between them.  A shift towards something more open and accepting.  Something kinder and gentler.  A shift away from animosity and reticence towards something much more genuine.  Something much more like friendship.    
  
An owl swoops past, landing on the windowsill of the apartment next door.  The bleary eyed inhabitant answers opens the window, taking the small parcel from the owl's leg and waving briefly at Potter.  He closes the window with soft click, leaving them alone one more.    
  
"I have another question,"  Potter says a few minutes later.  "You'll probably think this one is too personal too."  
  
His smile is sheepish, apologetic and damn near adorable.  Draco encourages him to go on with a gentle nod.  "Well, that night on the astronomy tower - why didn't you take Dumbledore's offer?  I could tell you wanted to.  So why not?  Why not switch sides?"  
  
Draco goes pale.  "Christ, you know how to go straight for the jugular don't you?"  
  
"If it's too much…"  Potter says, turning towards him, and putting his hands up in a mollifying manor.  
  
"No.  We're in Auror training together.  It's only fair you know why I stayed with the Death Eaters."  
  
His lets his mind jumps back.  Puts himself in his 16 year old shoes once more. And perhaps it is the time elapsed, perhaps it is the way he has changed, perhaps it is Brian influence - but the memories are harder to conjure.   Like it all happened to a different lifetime ago.  And as real as the emotions the memories stir up are,  he isn't that frightened, trembling, hopeless teenager anymore.  And for that is he grateful.  
     
"You're almost right about wanting to switch sides.  I didn't want to fight for the Death Eaters anymore, but I didn't want to fight for your side either.  I simply didn't want to fight at all.  I just wanted to protect my family, doing anything necessary to achieve that.  But I was in already too deep, Harry.  I was so used to standard Death Eater behavior that I was sure the second I put down my wand and agreed to change sides, I would find myself surrounded by Aurors and whisked off to Azkaban seconds later.  I was so used to feeling like I could trust no one, that I couldn't even bring myself to trust the one person who could have saved me."  
  
Draco's breath is raged, his eyes damp when he finishes.  His puts out his cigarette, composing himself with a muttered, "Sorry."  
  
"Don't be."  Potter says, laying his hand on Draco's arm once more.    
  
Potter is close now and when their eyes meet,  he feels himself sucked in by the vastness of all that green.  Their depth, Harry's strength and power.  They are a staggeringly gorgeous, surrounded by dark, long lashes.  For a moment he forgets who those eyes belong to and feels himself begin to go astray.    
  
Then Harry moves his hand away from Draco's arm as if he'd been caught.  He blinks at Malfoy several times, before clearing his throat and turning his eyes up to the night sky.  "I'm glad you told me.  Proves that you weren't nearly the prat you let everyone believe you were."  
  
"And now I know that you've never gotten laid, it explains why it was always so easy to piss you."   
  
Their laughs are hesitant but they break the tension.   _Whatever the hell that was..._    
  
"So tell me Potter, now that you know all about my forbidden love…Who used to make your heart beat the fastest back at school?"  
  
"Oh, I don't…"    
  
"Come on, Potter.  I showed you mine…"   He can't help himself when his voice is slightly flirtatious.   _It's just the wine making me do that, right?_       
  
Potter blushes again.  And for a fraction of a second Draco wants to know if his cheeks are as warm as they are pink.    
  
"Fine, I'll take a guess.  The littlest Weasley is a given.  But something about the whole situation makes me think that she wasn't the one you really wanted."  
  
"Not really,"  Potter says, twisting the wine glass in his hands.  
  
Draco snaps his fingers, surprising Harry a bit.  "I got it.  You wanted Granger.  Of course!  It's a tale as old as time, falling in love with your best friends girl."  
  
"It wasn't Hermione."  He mumbles.  
  
"Then who?  Lavender?  One of the Patill twins?"  Draco is running out of possible Gryffindor-approved girls.  "Don't tell me it was Loony Lovegood?"  
  
"Merlin, Draco!  It wasn't Luna."  
  
Then a preposterous thought crosses his mind.  "Was it Weasley?"  
  
Harry throws up his hands, completely exasperated.  "Daphne Greengrass, alright?"  He nearly shouts.  "I always thought she was really hot."  
  
"Well then, Potter,"  Draco says, leaning back and eyeing him slyly.  "Frigid, ice princesses are more your speed?  I never would have thought.  You should have made the move on her, though.  I know from second hand experience that she was good for it."  
  
"Yeah, right."  Potter growls.  "Like I'd ever have let some vile, Slytherin be my first."  
  
It is like a solid, brick wall gets dropped between them.  One that divides them once more along lines that Draco was beginning to think had been erased.  After all Draco had revealed to Potter.  After all he thought they had over come, still that classification remained.  That stigma.  
  
It was abundantly clear that nothing would ever, nor could ever, change between them.  
  
Draco fumbles for the door, his hand trembling as he tries to grasp the handle.    
  
"Draco, please…shit, that didn't come out right at all."  Harry reaches for him only have his hand swatted way by a spinning Draco.  His eyes so full of rage that he cannot see how much regret is resting on Harry's face.   
  
"Fuck you, Potter."   
  
And without another word, he slams the door behind him.


	8. Chapter 8

The light on Brian's desk is still glowing softly when Draco floos into the loft not three minutes later.  The golden light is a beacon, letting him know that Brian is home and a surge of reassurance passes through him.  
  
"Draco?"  Brian's voice emerges from the dim light, accompanied by the sounds of a rolling desk chair against hardwood.    
  
Draco moves towards the noise.  His smile troubled and his shoulders weary.  Brian grabs those shoulders when they meet, pushing them back and up.  Forcing his face to meet his.  
  
"What the fuck are you doing here?"  
  
Draco's breath catches.  This is not the greeting he'd hoped for.  "I wanted to see you,"  He says, his tone apologetic and a bit defensive.  
  
"You can't just come through that thing, unannounced."  Brian continues in his loud voice.  "I could have had someone here."  
  
Draco mouth forms into a snarl.  "I assumed,"  He begins, his voice acidic and harsh.  "That since you didn't have time for me this weekend, you wouldn't have time for tricks either."  He laughs sadistically as he rips himself away from Brian's grip.  "Silly me."  
  
He turns, intent on heading back through the floo the way he came but then Brian's hand curls around his forearm spinning him back around, pulling him into a hug.       
  
"That's not what I meant."  Brian murmurs against his neck and Draco's eyes slide closed.  "Cynthia could have been here helping with work.  And Michael showed up unannounced earlier because he went on a date tonight and Emmett had dressed him up like some 1980's gay cliche, gone horribly wrong, so he could have been here."  
  
"Michael went on a date?"  Draco asks, glad for this momentary distraction.    
  
Brian nods.  "Dr. Dave, chiropractor slash romantic suitor."  
  
"Chiro-what?"  
  
"Doesn't matter,"  Brian says, nuzzling his face into Draco's hair and Draco leans into the touch.    
  
"I'm sorry, Bri.  I wasn't thinking."    
  
"That's pretty obvious.  What's going on?  I didn't think I was going to see you until next week."  
  
Draco looks at him, ready to delve into the long tale about Harry Potter and his painful anti-Slytherin remarks.  But then he sees Brian's eyes.  Brian's brilliant, haunting, hazel eyes.  It's late, nearly two, and they are bone tired.  Blood shot from staring a computer screen and the fine print of endless documents, not from some crazy night out.  So Draco just shakes his head, curling his arms around his lover's form and says, "I just needed you."    
  
Brian smirks softly and leans forward to give Draco a simple, lingering kiss.  A supple caress as Brian's pump lips align themselves with his.  He cradles Draco's head with steady fingers as he breathes in Draco's sighs.  Internalizing them.  Making them his.  
  
Is it any wonder that, after all this time, Draco can understand exactly what Brian wants just from the way he kisses him?  Sometimes Brian's kisses show him just how horny he is, looking for something fast and frantic and forceful.  Sometimes the kisses are short and pursed, holding back swallowed laughs.  Others are deep and sweeping, meant to silence Draco when he's being ridiculous or overly sentimental.  
  
But tonight his kiss tells him this:   _I want to go slow.  I want to feel you_ , and most importantly  _I'm glad you're here._     
  
Their hands link as Brian leads him up the steps towards the bed.  They undress separately.  Slowly.  Taking their time while undoing buttons.  Letting jeans fall to the floor over slim hips and thighs.  Sharing knowing looks and letting the weight of the other's gaze warm their exposed skin.      
  
When they finally meet on the bed, kneeling opposite each other, close enough only for their fingertips to touch, they are completely naked.  Brian lifts their joined hands, pressing Draco's knuckles to his lips.  It is an incredibly innocent gesture.  Too romantic and gallant for Brian.  Yet as his eyes fall closed reverently, Draco cannot doubt his sincerity.     
  
He drags his lips across Draco's wrist, pressing open mouthed kisses against his arm and finally lapping at the inside of his elbow with his tongue.  With a gentle pull, he encourages Draco closer.  Inch by inch, Draco makes his way towards Brian on his knees, even as the other man continues planting his kisses with purposeful deliberation.  He neglects no part of him.  The inside of Draco's bicep, the rounded corner of his shoulder, down over his collar bone and pectoral muscle, finally making his way to Draco's sternum.    
  
How can something so small as a kisses make Draco's cock so hard?  
  
Perhaps, when the man doing the kissing is Brian Kinney.     
  
In one graceless move, Draco tumbles back against the sheets, pulling Brian along with him.  He needs to feel this: Brian's weight holding him down.  Brian's warm skin against his.  Brian's stiff cock leaking onto his belly.  After they have rutted and writhed and groped themselves to the edge of frenzy, Brian puts a condom on quickly, then hooks his elbow into the crook of one of Draco's knees, folding Draco into one, compact, fuckable package.  He enters him with patient pressure and another languid kiss.    
  
Perhaps it is the late hour.  Perhaps it is that they haven't seen each other in almost a week.  Perhaps it the distressed state in which Draco arrived or the way Brian has been his own slave driver for the past two months, but they make love with desperation.  Clinging to each other as if their lives depended on staying this close.  Brian's deep thrusts are always met by Draco's equally forceful upward movement.  Their gasps sound like sobs.  Their sighs become wails.            
  
"Brian," Draco pants.  " _Brian_ …"  This time it is more like weeping.  "So…"    
  
"'So' what?"  Brian breathes into the space between them, his lips grazing Draco's chin.  "Tell me what you feel."   
  
Now Draco could wax on about the feel of Brian's body against his own.  Make some poetic analogy to Brian's skin feeling like velvet, fine silk or satin.  Say that it has the softness of ermine or the hotness of the sun.  Talk of feeling completed with Brian moving inside him and not knowing where one ends and the other begins.  Because Brian's skin is soft enough.  His cock, fulfilling enough.  Their bodies, close enough to warrant such exaggerated statements.    
  
But Brian feels like something far more precious and magnificent than all those things: he simply feels like him.  His acceptance and understanding.  His unleashed desire for Draco.  The knowledge that for as much as Brian makes his body burn, he will also be there when the fire goes out.  
  
"I feel…"  He sobs, his heart so near to bursting, he wonders if he might not cry indeed.  " _Safe_."  
  
Brian whimpers softly against his ear, pumping his hips with even further determination.  
  
"I love you."  Draco finds himself whispering as their orgasms build. "I love you."  
  
"Draco."  Brian gasps back.  "Draco, I…"  
  
It almost takes him by surprise when he does come, so enrapt had he been in simply feeling Brian all around him.  He comes in brilliant shades of gold, red, orange and pink.  The colors of a sunset that fades too quickly into the cool tones of night.  But just like a sunset the beauty of the moment lingers in Draco's heart as he falls asleep, his body still tangled and close to Brian's.  
  
Draco spends the rest of the weekend in Pittsburgh.  Watching American football in his pajamas, eating cereal from the box and trying to stay out of Brian's hair.  And ignoring every phone call from Potter.  
  
"Who keeps calling you?"  Brian asks, Sunday afternoon as they get ready to meet the boys at the diner for breakfast.    
  
"No one."  Draco says grimly, looking down at the number of missed calls on his phone, the tally now up to eight.  He wishes he could just throw his phone out the window because he doesn't want to hear Potter's excuses.  Doesn't want to hear his lame apologies.  So the calls remain ignored.  
  
When Brian leaves for work Monday morning, he kisses Draco goodbye.  Kneeling beside the bed in his suit to tell him that if all goes according to plan, they'll be celebrating in New York by Thursday.  Draco smiles softly, waiting for the loft door to slide closed before rolling over and going back to sleep.  
  
When he wakes up in time for lunch, he decides to take some lunch to Brian at work.  He picks up some Thai, hops in a cab and is there in twenty.    
  
The office is busy, but Cynthia, who he's never met but has spoken to many times on the phone, gives him a sly smirk and lets him in.  
  
Brian is sitting at his desk, his laptop open when Draco enters the room, a focused look on his face.  That expression does not change as he looks up at Draco, eyeing him up and down before turning back to his computer.  
  
"I brought you food." Draco says when Brian says nothing.  He takes a seat in the chair opposite him and starts to open the food bag.  "I'm sure you haven't eaten anything today.  You have been looking thinner, you know…"  
  
Brian snaps his lap top shut.  "Why aren't you in back in New York?"  
  
"Don't tell me you're fed up with me already?" Brian gestures helplessly at all the piles of work on his desk, a look on his face that seems to ask, Can you blame me?  Draco slumps further in his his chair.  "Yeah, alright.  I'm pretty well fed up with myself lately actually."  
  
Brian pushes his computer out of the way so he can lean over his desk, laying his hands palm up on his desk so Draco can take them, which he does.  
  
"What's up with you?  You show up in the middle of the night looking like a ghost and lay around all weekend doing nothing.  And now you're missing class."  
  
"Well so fucking what that I'm missing class?  I don't even know why I'm bothering with that Auror bullshit."  
  
"What the fuck are you talking about?  You love Auror training and you've been doing great there…"  
  
"Yeah, but it's not about me."  Draco says, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms.  "It doesn't matter how well I do in class or how much I want to do the right thing or how much I've changed, all they see is this."  He waves his left hand.  "All they see is the son of Lucius Malfoy, Slytherin and Death Eater."  
  
"But you said that everyone has been totally fine with that.  Even the teachers."  
  
"Yeah, but _he_ isn't."  Draco spits out, curling his body into an even more self-protective stance.  
  
"He?  He who?"  Brian asks cooly, a small shard of something icy and painful pelts against his heart.  "Harry?"  
  
Draco nods and the next shard feels slightly bigger.  
  
"I thought you guys had started hanging out."  
  
"We had.  Until he acted like a complete and utter wanker."  
  
Brian takes a moment needing to translate Draco's slip into English slang.  But by the vicious pronunciation of the word "wanker", it can't mean something good.    
  
"He's the reason you were upset on Friday?"  Another nod.  "And he's the one who's been calling you all weekend."  Brian deduces.  Draco nods again.  "Look whatever it was he did," Brian starts vaguely, because honestly he doesn't want to know, "It seems like he's sorry about it."  
  
"Who cares.  Sorry's bullshit right?"  
  
"Usually, yeah."  
  
"So, there it is.  I lived for twenty years of my life without him as my friend, so I think I can survive without it.  I shouldn't even care about that now!"  
  
Brian shrugs.  "But things aren't the same as they have been for the past twenty years.  It's true for you.  It's true for me," he adds softly.  "And I'm sure it's true for Harry too.  Maybe he just needs more time to adjust to that fact.  Give him a second chance.  Let him prove you wrong about himself, just like you're proving everyone else wrong about you."  
  
Draco chews at his lip for a moment as is considers his advice.  Then he sighs and a warm smile breaks over his face.  "What ever would I do without you?"  
  
"I'm sure you'd muddle through."  Brian drawls sarcastically, while at the back of his mind he feels some truth in that statement.  
  
"I'd prefer it if I never have to find out though."  Draco says coyly, leaning over the desk to kiss Brian.  "I believe you and I have a date with New York City in a few days.  I'll see you then?"  
  
Brian watches Draco leave, looking happier than he ever has to return to his life six hours away from Brian.  And while rationally, he knows that all he did was encourage his partner to reconcile with a potential friend, he can't help but feel that he might have just pushed Draco into the arms of the enemy.

*

Standing outside Harry Potter's door the next night, Draco feels incredibly awkward.  He knows it is Potter who owes him the apology and it should be him who is nervous and sheepish.  But the whole situation leaves Draco feeling weak.  Like some wife who has lost all sense of pride and has come crawling back to her abusive spouse.  
 _  
Did I really just refer to myself as Potter's wife?_   Draco considers, disgusted by his own thoughts.            
  
He leans against the door frame, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he hears the clink of locks being undone behind the door.  When Potter opens it, Draco can see his sigh of relief.  His whole body relaxing with the audible exhale.  
  
"I didn't think you'd show."  
  
"I always keep my word,"  Draco says smoothly, keeping his gaze cast to the floor.   
  
There were several Owl Posts at his apartment when he got back to New York the previous night.  All some variation on the same theme of I'm sorry and Please just let me explain.  Each note getting more emphatic and desperate as the days went on.    
  
"You wanna come in?"  Potter asks, as if Draco might have come all the way here without the actual intention of setting foot in his house.  
  
When Draco had slipped into his seat, near the front of the Stealth and Concealment classroom that morning, Potter had stared at him with wide, pleading eyes.  But Draco, not quite ready to let Potter of the hook just yet, had turned a cold shoulder.  Refusing to even acknowledge him.  Letting Potter continue to think that Draco was completely livid.  
  
He had kept up the snubbing behavior through lunch, only to finally relent when n a note had been waiting for him at his Potions station that afternoon.  It said simply:  
  
     _Please, Malfoy.  After everything we've done to each other this can't be  
    the thing that makes you hate me for the rest of your life.   
                                    ~Harry_  
  
Potter had watched him as he read the note so Draco simply pocketed it, sending him an icy look.  After their potion's teacher had outlined the assignment for the day the class set about gathering the ingredients and supplies they needed.  In the ensuing motion, Draco had slipped past Harry's desk, uttering, "Your place.  7 o'clock.  You have one chance to explain yourself."  
  
Perhaps his threat had been excessive.  Because ultimately, he did plan to forgive Potter his idiotic slip.  But injecting that bit of fear into Potter certainly couldn't hurt the situation.  After all, he really wanted the truth about why Potter would say something so spiteful.  Not just some bungled apology.   
  
"You want some wine or a beer?  I could make coffee."  Potter is rubbing his palms together and Draco takes some satisfaction when he sees that Potter is just as flustered by this situation as he is.  
  
Draco slips his jacket off, throwing it over his elbow.  He sits, crossing his legs gracefully.  Letting his body language tell Potter to get the hell on with it.    
  
"Right."  Potter says, sinking slowly into the corner of the couch closest to Draco.  He smoothes his palms over his thighs, taking a deep breath. "You probably don't want to hear me apologize again...."  
  
"Actually,"  Draco says, examining his cuticles.  "I would love to hear you apologize again."  He lifts his eyes to Potter, arching his brow to an excessive angle.  
  
Potter looks at him intently, those rich orbs speaking of his sincerity.    
  
"I'm sorry, Draco."    
  
Draco lets his icy exterior melt, uncrossing his legs and resting forward on his elbows.  "I know."  Potter's apology feels good to accept.  A relief to both of them, though ease of it seems a surprise to Harry.  "Look, you and I have been on the other side of every fence conceivable for half our lives, we're bound to screw a few times along the way.  You just happened to be the first one to muck it up."  
  
Potter's jaw hangs open slightly. "So you're…not pissed at me?"  
  
"Well, I was.  Incredibly pissed.  What you said was…unnecessarily harsh.  And quite unexpected."  
  
"I know."  He shakes his head, still obviously remorseful.  "I don't think of Slytherins as vile, least of all you.  I haven't for a long time now."  
  
"Then why did you say it?"  
  
"It was a knee jerk reaction.  You had me backed into a corner and I snapped."  
  
"Backed into what corner?"  Draco says, trying to keep his anger from resurfacing.  "I had just told you about sleeping with one of our Professors.  Told you things about the darkest night of my life.   All I was doing was teasing, trying to figure out what girl at Hogwarts you wanted most.  What about that would make you snap?"  
  
"Because,"  He begins sadly.  "It wasn't a girl at Hogwarts I wanted."  
  
"Someone from home then?"  
  
"You're really going to make me spell this out for you?"  Potter asks, his hands open in a desperate plea.  When Draco simply stares back at him, dumbfounded, Potter flops back against the sofa cushions, running his hands through his already messy hair.  Groaning disappointedly as he does.  "I thought you were supposed to be so bloody smart and now you're making me…."  He mumbles, sitting up again.  
  
"I'm gay, Malfoy."  
  
It is now Draco's chance for his jaw to drop.  
  
"You're...what?"  
  
"You of all people should know what being gay means."  
  
Draco takes a steading breath, running a heavy palm over his face, letting it linger over his still open mouth as he stares at Potter.  He drops his hand to his lap, clears his throat.  
  
"I think I'll take that beer now."  
  
Potter nods and hurries off the kitchen, returning with two bottles of beer.  Draco takes a long swig, wiping at his lips before his speaks.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"I just did."  
  
"I meant... before."  
  
"And when exactly  _before_  should I have done that, Malfoy?"  Harry says, making quotation motions with his fingers to emphasize the ridiculousness of Draco's plea.  "Should I have told you when we were twelve years old and I didn't even know what sex was but I knew that I much preferred watching Oliver Wood fly than looking at those girlie magazines Dean Thomas would smuggle into the common room?  Or when we were 15 and I finally tried getting with some girls and it felt so soulless and uninspiring, like making out with cardboard?  So that even as much as I wanted to deny it, I  _knew_?  Just like I knew exactly what you and Blaise were sneaking off into those dark corners to do, but our disgust with each other had reached the point where the only time we would even look at each other was to glare or throw curses?  Or should I have told you at the beginning of this year?  When you showed up here in New York, completely out of the blue and we finally, finally, start getting along, and you're still the most infuriatingly gorgeous bloke I've ever seen, only to find out that you have a boyfriend that you're moving in with?  None of those sound like the best time to tell you I'm gay."  
  
Draco listens as Harry continues prattling on about how ridiculous Draco is for thinking that he should have told him sooner, but Draco is hung up on one word:  _still.  Potter thinks I'm gorgeous?  No, no he thinks I'm_  still  _gorgeous?_  
  
Why does that knowledge make Draco feel nearly euphoric?  
  
"Besides, I only really accepted it when I moved to New York."  
  
This statement snaps Draco out of his own head.   
  
"What is to accept?  You'd rather fuck men than women, so what?"    
  
"It's not that simple."  Potter says, with a sad shake of his head.  "Once, in my crazy, fucked up life, I just wanted one bloody thing to be easy.  To not spark some sort of media frenzy.  To not be the token figure for yet another community in search of a figure head.  Can you imagine what the Prophet would do if it came out that 'The Chosen One', 'The Boy Who Lived', the fucking 'Savior' preferred men?  Can't you understand that I just want to be normal?"  
  
"Christ, Potter.  Being gay  _is_  normal."   
  
"I know that.  And I'm out now.  Hermione and Ron and the Weasley's know, but sometimes I can't help but think about how much easier it would be if I were straight.  I could marry Ginny.  Have the house in the suburbs, the kids.  Maybe even a dog."  
  
"And you really think a cookie-cutter life like that would make you happy?"  
  
"No.  I'd be denying who I am, but...."  He sighs.  "A simple life, Draco.  It's all I've ever wanted."  
  
Of course it makes sense.  There would be nothing better for someone who has lived their life in the reluctant lime-light, to simply fade into the nondescript fabric of society.  And a part of Draco suddenly wishes very much for Harry to have that.  
  
"You can have all those things with a man.   I mean, look at me and Brian."  
  
Potter laughs.  "You and Brian are nowhere even close to buying a house in the suburbs with two kids and a dog."  
  
"No, I suppose we're not.  But it doesn't mean that you can't have that."  Draco settles back against his chair, picking at the corner of the label on his beer bottle.  "Alright, look."  Draco says as he sets his bottle down on the coffee table.  "As a token for our renewed attempt at friendship, I feel like it is my personal responsibility to help you embrace this side of yourself that you've been repressing for so many years."  
  
"I'm not completely repressed." Potter defends himself rolling his eyes, but blushing furiously at the same time.  Something about his continually exposed innocence makes Draco smirk, both outwardly and inwardly.  It makes him want to pull that innocence out and replace it with experience.  His insecurity with swagger.    
  
"What have you done with a man, Potter?"  Draco says.  He narrows his eyes attractively, letting his finger tips trail over the collar of his shirt.  And it is almost too easy.  Potter's eyes flit down to Draco's softly parted lips and the brunet swallows heavily.    
  
"I've done…stuff."  He breathes.  "Snogging and one off's…"  
  
"That's all?"  Draco keeps his voice gentle and coy.  "Well I think it's time we changed that, don't you?"      
  
A warmth awakens the cool green of Potter's eyes.  His tongue flits out subconsciously to wet his lips.  His cheeks fill with color.  And Draco would swear later, that Potter inched forward in his seat.    
  
But it's just a little game to Draco.  A little flirtation that lets him exert his own confidence and sensuality over his friend.  He's seen Brian do this countless times to Michael or a man he has no intention of fucking.  It means nothing to him.  And yet if that is the case, why is there a glorious heat suddenly blossoming in his own gut?   
  
"A new club just opened up in Chelsea.  I know Brian wants to check it out.  We should go this week when he gets here."  Draco manages the three simple sentences, even though his mouth feels dry and his heart is rushing nervously in his chest.  He ends his game nearly as abruptly as he had started it, and Potter reels for a moment, trying to regain his bearings.  
  
"Clubs really aren't my scene."    
  
"Well, you've never been to a club with me and Brian before."  Draco says regaining his composure.   "It's a whole different experience with Brian Kinney by your side.  Trust me."  
  
Potter finally agrees and gets up to get them both another beer.  And Draco is left worrying about why going alone to a club with Potter feels like such a dangerous idea.  And wondering what will happen when Harry and Brian - his past and his future - are suddenly thrust together at last.

*

Waiting is not something Brian does well. He prefers things to be prompt, efficient and close at hand.  
  
But when it comes to waiting to hear from a client, there isn't much Brian can do  _but_  wait.  
  
The sales pitch on Wednesday had been, in a word, perfect. Brian could tell by the looks on the faces of the Liberty Air reps that they loved everything Brian was presenting to them. But as is the nature of his business, Ryder was not the only firm they had approached for a campaign. So now, comes the part Brian hates the most, because he has done his part. And the rest is out of his hands.  
  
Luckily, there are other things to keep him occupied in the interim. He takes the rest of the week off, driving to New York early-morning on Thursday. He spends the rest of the afternoon lounging on Draco's bed - _Might be our bed soon enough,_ he thinks. He smokes a joint, trailing his fingers over his flat chest, down to cup his ball sac and finally jerking himself off lazily, once he has gotten hard imagining exactly what he will do to Draco when he gets home.  
  
Draco is giddy upon his arrival home. He rushes into the bedroom at the sight of Brian's bag leaning against the sofa and climbs on top of Brian. Coat still buttoned high around his neck, bag still slung across his shoulders, smothering Brian's naked body with kisses and smiles.  
  
They take their time after that, making love and drowsing until the sky outside becomes dark. Not rousing themselves until hunger for food takes over their hunger for each other.    
  
As they sit on high stools, set around a small, round table in front of a large window full of another city view, eating the quick meal Draco had thrown together, Brian relishes the comfort of being here. He knows the stress is not over. These few days are just the eye of the storm. There is still much to be done before he is living here, with Draco. Permanently.  
  
If everything works out with Liberty Air, then there is making sure they agree to follow him to New York. Then if that pans out, he will have to quit Ryder, a place he has worked his entire career. Stealing clients and personal assistants and burning countless bridges as he does. He'll have to sell his loft even though it is the only place he has ever felt at home. Then his good byes to "the family" will be heartfelt and painful. He might even have to get in touch with his actual family. Tell his mother and father that he is moving to New York to live with his young, male lover and deal with the unimaginable wrath that news will cause. Then once he is here, he'll have to work like a dog to ensure his new firm with Gwen and Reid takes off….  
  
"Hey," Draco says, interrupting Brian's thoughts with a light touch to his wrist. "You look stressed out. You're not allowed to be stressed out tonight. Or for the rest of the week for that matter."  
  
Brian shakes his head and twirls some more pasta on his fork. "I was just thinking ahead."  
  
"Well don't. The farthest ahead you are allowed to think is to what you want to do tonight."  
  
Brian smiles at him, enjoying the way Draco can even make his coddling sexy. "You have something in mind then?"  
  
"Well," Draco props his elbows on the table, clasping his hands under his chin. "I kind of made plans for us to go that new club Nectar."  
  
"Cool."  
  
"Harry's going to come too, if that is ok with you."    
  
"Isn't Nectar a gay club?" Draco nods and Brian snorts softly. "Harry wanting to see how the other half parties tonight?"  
  
"Not exactly. There's something I didn't tell you. Something I only found out when I went over to his place so he could apologize the other night…. and, well it was the night before your Liberty Air pitch and I didn't want to waste your time telling you about it then but…"  
  
"Just spit it out." Brian says. With a build up like this, it can't be good.  
  
"Well, it turns out...Harry's gay."    
 _  
No, not good at all._  And Draco's nervous laugh doesn't help.    
  
"You spend your life hating someone and you think you'd know something like that…but surprise, surprise!" He continues, most definitely blushing.  
  
Why does this new information making him so uneasy and Draco so uncomfortable? It shouldn't matter. He and Draco are partner's. They are a strong couple. There are thousands of gay men in this city and it just so happens that one of them is Draco's oldest enemy turned friend.  Why does this matter?  Brian can't put his finger and can only identify the fact that it  _does_.   
  
"Well, he's only just come out this summer and he's still a virgin. So I you and I should show him how it's done."  
  
"How what is done?" Brian asks, panicking as to exactly what Draco has them signed up for.  
  
"Being absolutely  _fabulous_  fags." Draco answers dramatically, channeling Emmett for a moment.  And even through his nerves, Brian can't help but snicker. "So is it alright then?" Draco asks.  
  
Brian considers, though he doesn't see how he is left with a choice.    
  
"I don't fucking care if he comes with us tonight. As long as tonight, there is us fucking and coming." Brian says, hoping he speaks with all the nonchalance he doesn't feel. Draco beams at his answer, jumping up from his chair and grabbing the plates from the table.  
  
"Great!" He shouts from over his shoulder as drops the plates in the sink. "Because he'll be here at 10." He rushes back into the room kissing Brian swiftly on the cheek, clearly elated by their plans. Brian's reaction is decidedly the opposite.  
  
"I've got to shower. I smell like cum."  
  
Brian grabs him around the waist, pulling him between his knees. He can't let Draco run off just yet. "Yours? Or mine?"  
  
Draco smiles, a slow, sultry, knee-weakening smile and leans forward to kiss Brian again. Lavishing his tongue across the velvety wetness of Brian's open mouth. "Both." Draco answers and Brian growls, allowing Draco to pull him to the shower with a lascivious gleam in his eyes.    
  
As soon as they are naked and wet, the mirrors and glass walls of the shower steamed over, Brian drops to his knees unsolicited, working his mouth across Draco's abdomen and grasping his hips securely in both hands. For a moment, Draco protests, muttering something about time and getting ready. But with one steady shake of his head and one intent look deep into Draco's eyes, the blond's head is thrown back against the shower wall, his finger tips trailing through Brian's damp hair.    
  
It is not often Brian is willing to get on his knees to pleasure a man. In the thousands of trips to the back room, he has never once given a blow job. He always receives. He always takes. But here with Draco, there is no where else he would rather be than kneeling at his feet, the hot water falling over his skin and Draco's cock inches from his face.  
  
His cock is still soft, hanging limply from a bed of blond curls, though Brian can already see the pale skin of the shaft beginning to flush, filling with the blood that will make that flesh so delectably hard. But Brian enjoys the softness. Enjoys the way the spongy tip feels between his lips, the way he is able to manipulate it across his tongue in it's softness that he never can when it is rigid. Of course, it doesn't not stay soft for long.  
  
Once's Draco's cock is hard, he palms it, letting the water ease the slip of his hand. He lifts Draco's cock up and out of the way, pressing his face further against his belly in search of other supple things to taste. He gently pulls one of Draco's testicles into his mouth, curling his tongue around the pliant orb, elastic and moving beneath the loose skin. Draco whimpers above him. Small, brilliant noises that teeter on the edge of over stimulation.    
  
He delicately releases him from his mouth, knowing how intense that feeling is and not wanting to over do it. He returns to Draco's cock, running his tongue up the entire underside all the way too the tip.    
  
"I want to taste you, Draco." Brian says, rubbing the head of Draco's prick against his wet lips. "I want to have the flavor of your cum in my mouth all night long. So that every time you kiss me, you taste yourself and think of this… think of me and how I make you feel." The words are out before Brian even realizes how much he means them.    
  
"Yes. Fuck! Brian, please." Draco whimpers, seemingly oblivious to the more serious meaning behind Brian's dirty talk. Brian starts pumping his hand more quickly along Draco's hard length, as his hips begin to buck erratically. His eyes are clamped shut, his brow already creased in intense pleasure.    
  
Brian goes to it, taking nearly the entire length of Draco into his mouth in one go. Working back and forth, around and around. Eventually, he props one of Draco's knees over his shoulder, opening up his hips so he can reach around with his other hand and tease the outside of his ass hole. The opening is still soft and yielding from their previous session and he slips his finger into the clenching hole easily. When he presses against the spongy walls, palpitating Draco's insides, the blond cries out even louder than before. His one supporting leg starts shaking violently and Brian knows he is not going to last much longer.  
  
As the proof of his orgasm fills Brian's mouth, Draco collapses forward over Brian's back. His body elastic and boneless and spent and Brian makes sure he is propped up securely against the wall before standing. He grasps Draco's chin in one hand, the intensity of the gesture forcing open Draco's worn eyes. Then with a look that could melt glaciers, Brian leans forward, invading Draco's mouth with his cum laden tongue.  
  
Draco groans, guttural and thick, pulling Brian closer to him as he assaults his face. The kiss is fierce and the only thing hotter than letting the sharp, viscous semen swirl back and forth on their tongues is perhaps the desperate way Draco begs for it. Moans and cries escape him, like a vampire tasting blood and never getting enough. His hand slips down between their bodies, his fingers curling around Brian's painfully hard cock. As he jerks him off, he matches every one of Brian's gasps so that when Brian comes, Draco exclaims with such magnitude one would think it was he who had just climaxed and not Brian.    
  
This is what their sex has become. Nearly symbiotic. Brian knows Draco's body so well now and Draco, his. He knows him in a way he has never known another lover. Their sex has surpassed incredible. Gone beyond spectacular into the realm of momentous.  Epic . And every single time so emotional.   
  
"Jesus, Brian." He whispers, several moments later, as Brian, his arms propped against the wall on either side of Draco's head, pushes the fine strands of dripping, blond hair off Draco's flushed face with the tip of his finger.    
  
"You like that?" Brian asks, trailing his fingers over the exposed skin of Draco's neck, feeling Draco's pulse race beneath the pale skin. Draco cards his fingers through Brian's hair, clasping his jaw and lifting Brian's face in front of his.  
  
"I loved it. I love everything you do to me, Brian. Everything about you." His words are fervid and rushed. Spoken, breathlessly with unflinching eyes. "I don't need sex to remember you or what you make me feel. Don't you understand that?  All I need is the sound of your voice. A look from across the room. The smell of your cologne on my clothes. The memory of a snowy night together. I see you - see this,  _see us_  - in everything. You are everywhere I go, Brian."    
  
Brian presses his lips together, searching Draco's face. It is almost too easy for Draco to speak of love. So poetic and romantic in his silky English cadences. It is the one emotion that Brian has always feared the most.  A confession  like this would, once upon a time, sent him running for the hills. But now he stands, relishing them.  Almost craving them.  Because love sounds eloquent on Draco's lips.  It appears so effortless and beautiful when it is laid plainly on Draco's face. And for one breathless moment, Brian thinks,  _I could say those things too. And mean them._     
  
But then Draco's hands slip from Brian's hair, falling the length of his back and grab onto Brian's ass cheeks with a resounding smack.    
  
"But I certainly won't complain when you do. That was one hell of a blow job." Draco's smile slides into a lazy smirk, which Brian makes sure to kiss from his lips before they finally get around to bathing.  
  
They dress carefully. Selecting outfits that are both classy and sexy. This is New York, not Pittsburgh and the standards for club-wear are higher. But for the two of them, it is easy to dress to the nines. With closets full of designer labels and high priced fashion, and their sizes nearly interchangeable, their options are limitless. By the time outfits are selected and hair product and cologne applied, it is no surprise that the ten o'clock hour is upon them and their door bell is ringing, announcing the arrival of their guest.  
  
Any nerves Brian might have felt earlier have been mitigated by the scene in the shower. Which if he is honest with himself, is exactly why he did it. After such intensity, such declarations, how could he not be calmed?    
  
But then Brian sees Harry.  
  
His first reaction is not one he expects. He suddenly feels very protective of Draco, but not in a jealous boyfriend sort of way.  More in a paternal way.  Feeling the need to defend Draco and keep him safe.  Brian  knows who put that small, silver scar on Draco's chest. He knows the cruel thoughts that have invaded Draco's mind because Harry put them there. The two of them might be trying to put their history behind them, but Brian finally has a face to put to all those vicious acts, and he can't help but view it cautiously.  
  
It is an attractive face, certainly. His jaw is strong, his skin tone even. The oddly shaped scar that Draco has mentioned peaks out from beneath his dark, and slightly wild, hair. But he is dressed well: a dark grey button down, top few buttons undone reveal a firm and hairless chest. The shirt is tucked into a pair of pale denim jeans so soft and so worn, they look like they were cut specifically to fit his thighs and ass.   _Which aren't bad either, objectively speaking._ He is wearing a heavy wool pea coat that hits right at the perfect point of his legs to help them look longer. And his dark black boots are made of high quality leather, showing that this other wizard has a decent amount of taste and at least a bit of expendable income.  
  
"Brian, Harry. Harry, Brian." Draco says hastily, knowing that introductions aren't really necessary.    
  
"Glad to meet you. Finally." Harry says, offering a smile and his hand. Brian doesn't move to take it right away, giving him one last blank and unimpressed look. One that lets Harry know just how much he's got to do before he will win Brian over. He might be a hero to thousands, but to Brian he is just a man who has far too much influence over his boyfriend's moods.  
  
After a sufficiently awkward moment, Brian smiles, grasping Harry's hand in his own. "Good to meet you too, Harry. You know for someone who vanquished an evil wizard I was expecting someone…bigger."  
  
Harry puffs up his chest slightly. "I'm sure you've heard the saying 'Size isn't everything'."  
  
Brian snorts loudly, then picks up his coat and heads to the door. "We need to go." Draco and Harry stare blankly at him. "By the time we get to the club it will nearly be 11 and you clearly have far more to learn that I thought."  
  
Draco gives Harry an encouraging look and him out the door past Brian.  
  
"Thank you." He mouths, clasping Brian's hand for one brief moment and Brian nods indulgently. He pulls the door closed behind him, rolling his eyes as he does.   
  
It is going to be an interesting night.


	9. Chapter 9

Nectar has a completely different vibe from Babylon, but Draco likes it.   
  
While Babylon is sprawling and tall, with cool colors and a raw, barebones aesthetic, Nectar seems to glow with warmth and lavishness from the inside out.  Golden light reflects of richly gilded walls.  Velvet sofas in rich burgundies and purples are tucked into intimate corners.  The dance floor is compact, pushing the pretty clientele even closer together.    
  
Their party of three first hits up the bar.  Shots are done and drinks are procured, before they head out to the dance floor for a few songs.  Draco and Brian dance close together and Potter looks less like an idiot while dancing than Draco had anticipated.  
  
Once their drinks are empty, they make a sweep of the perimeter of the club, scoping out the best place to stake out for the remainder of the evening.  They finally settle into a booth: high backed, made from luciously soft leather, with a single red pendent lamp hanging low over the glossy table.  They are close enough to the dance floor to watch all the hottest men and close enough to the bar that the service they receive is top quality.  Or perhaps the service is based more on how they look and how much they are spending, but either way, it is a prime location.  
  
Draco plays moderator between Harry and Brian, leading discussion down paths of commonality.  The perks of City living, the different merits of single malt and blended scotches - complete with taste tests, of course.  And while Harry engages Brian with that typical, cheery Gryffindor temperament, Brian meets him with his typical, bored Kinney-esque attitude.  He adds his two cents when he can be bothered, but prefers to sit slouched against the couches, eyes narrowed out at the crowd, an arm thrown casually (or perhaps not so casually) across the back of Draco's chair.    _He really would have fit right in down in the dungeons_ , Draco can't help but think with a soft smile.  But all that being said, the evening starts off surprisingly well.  
  
"Someone's got the hots for boy wonder,"  Brian says out of the blue a while later as Harry and Draco had been discussing the latest rumor that one of the second year Auror trainees was pregnant and therefore getting kicked out of the program.  He points with his glass, directing Draco's gaze towards a cute, young cute brunette standing at the bar.  The boy glances over his shoulder towards their table and when Harry turns to look, he smiles warmly at him.  Harry whips back around, his already flushed cheeks, turning an even darker shade of crimson.     
  
"Not bad, Potter,"  Draco says, impressed.  "First pull of the night looks quite promising."    
  
Potter fidgets with his drink, clearly trying to suppress a smile.  "He is pretty hot, isn't he?"  
  
"He's cute,"  Draco agrees.    
  
"He's alright,"  Brian drawls, for which he receives a swift smack across the stomach with the back of Draco's hand.    
  
"You should go talk to him."  Draco encourages.  
  
"And say what exactly?"  
  
"'Nice ass, wanna fuck?' usually works pretty well for me."  Brian says, propping his chin in his hand and giving Harry a glib smile.  Draco snorts and Harry rolls his eyes, but then surprising both Draco and himself, Brian continues, "Look, he's the one cruising you.  Let him do the work with all the fancy pick up lines."    
  
"He's right, you know.  Just go over there and see what happens."  
  
"I don't know..."  Harry gripes, slumping further down in his chair, hell bent on staying right where he is.  Then with a devilish grin Draco leans across the table, knowing just the right words to get him out of his seat.   
  
"Scared, Potter?"  
  
Potter's lifts his gaze to meet Draco's  Their eyes twinkle with the remembered moment.  He laughs once, dropping his eyes back to his beer bottle and pushes his chair back away from the table. Then leans down, whispering the anticipated answer into Draco's ear.  
  
"You wish."     
  
As Potter struts off towards the bar, Draco sits back, crossing his arms and legs with a self-satisfied grin on his face.  Is he pleased because he finally got Potter to go chat some guy up?  Or because Harry had remembered those words spoken to each other so many years ago just a vividly as he?  
  
"What was that about?"  Brian asks.  Draco just shakes his head.  
  
"Old inside joke.  Come on, dance with me."  
  
It is business as usual for the two of them out on the dance floor.  Men gape and ogle.  Draco can't deny how good it feels, being not only so wanted of his own right, but being with a man who is equally as desirable.  A dark, Spanish looking man catches Brian's attention.  The two men share the lingering eye contact of mutual interest, as Draco watches the interaction cooly.  Then through a series of looks, shrugs, head shakes, eye rolls and nods, he and Brian have an entire conversation without speaking a word.  
  
 _What do you think?  
  
You certainly always get the hottest men in the place don't you.    
  
What can I say?  Men want me.  
  
Modest aren't we?  Well, go for it.  
  
You're sure?  
  
Yes, Brian, I'm sure.  Now, go.  I'll be back at the table.    
_  
 _Who needs occlumency when you have that?_  Draco thinks as he walks back to their table.  He orders another round for everyone, and the drinks had just arrived when Potter comes back. He drops himself dramatically into the booth with a satisfied sigh, nearly knocking over Draco's gin and tonic as he does.  He is clearly drunker then when he left, his limbs so loose that he ends up splayed up against Draco, his head resting on Draco's shoulder.    
  
"And?"  Draco asks, with a laugh, looking down at Potter's glowing face.  
  
"Phone number,"  He says, slamming a napkin down on the table like a trophy.  
  
"Potter… You weren't supposed to get his phone number.  You were supposed to go snog his brains out. "                   
  
"Yeah, well, I'll get around to that eventually.  The night is still young."  He sits up, picking up his beer, making a small noise of pleasure when he finds it full once more.  "Where's Brian?"  
  
"Off doing what you should have done."    
  
Harry's drunken brain takes a moment to process this but when it does his his face scrunches up, confused.  "You mean he's copping off with another bloke?"  
  
"This  _is_  a gay club, Potter.  This bit of information shouldn't be so shocking to you,"  Draco says, raising his brows pointedly.  
  
"No, I mean.  He's copping up with someone…who isn't you?"  Draco nods slowly.  "Doesn't that bother you?"  
  
"No, Potter.  It doesn't bother me."  Draco answers in bored tones.  But Potter merely stares at him, perplexed.    
  
"What if he falls for one of them?"  
  
Draco scoffs.  "Brian's not going to fall for anyone else."  
  
"You seem awfully sure."  
  
"Well, I  _am_  sure.  It's just sex to him, Harry."  
  
"There you go again,"  He gestures helplessly with his hand.  "Rattling on about how sex doesn't mean anything."  
  
"And there you go again rattling on about how sex always does."  Draco snaps back.  "Why don't you try  _having_  sex first before making any judgements about what other people do with it."  He turns away from Potter, not in the mood to defend his relationship with Brian to anyone, least of all Potter.  
  
"I wasn't…judging…"  Harry mumbles, into his beer bottle, taking sip before speaking again.  "I just don't think I could ever let someone I dated do that."  
  
"No, I wouldn't imagine you could.  Fucking noble, goodie two shoes, Gryffindor."  The words are said with just enough jeering that two soft smiles are exchanged and the air between them is cleared.    
  
Draco scans the crowd, looking for Brian, but he is no where to be found.  He meant what he said about it not bothering him when Brian slips off for some anonymous cock.  It affects nothing about the way he treats Draco or the commitment between them, just as it hadn't with his parents.  But it doesn't mean that Draco is so far above things that he sometimes doesn't wish Brian were by his side instead of off God knows where, doing God knows what.  But he trusts Brian, and in turn, Brian trusts him.  
  
"So do you do that too?"  Harry asks in those innocuous tones that Draco has begun to realize are usually the precursor to something far from innocent.  
  
"Do what?"    
  
"Sleep with other people."  
  
Draco opens his mouth to say "No," but something about the look on Potter's face changes his answer.  So instead the words that come out of his mouth are, "I can."  
  
Because that is the truth.  He hasn't slept with anyone besides Brian in the entire time they've been together.  He did sleep with Kelsey, but that liaison doesn't count in Draco's mind.  That coupling had been more to prove a point than because he actually wanted her.  And it had been long before things between them were so… certain. But there are no rules obligating him to be faithful to Brian.  No discussion ever occurred where they discussed it being perfectly alright for Brian to trick, even while Draco doesn't.  It has just been the way things are between them, unspoken and assumed, like so much else in their relationship. But just because he never has slept with someone else, doesn't mean he can't.   
  
This is clearly what Potter was hoping to hear, as his eyes light up like a pair of Christmas candles.  
  
"Oh Potter, no, no, no…"  Draco breathes quickly, even as Potter scoots himself closer, pressing his hips flush against Draco's.  
  
"Because I'd be lying if I said I haven't thought about it."  Potter starts.  "I mean, it makes sense doesn't it?  Why should I go find some random bloke to have sex with when it could be you?"     
  
Draco is stunned silent, only able to stare opened mouthed and blinking back at Potter.  He is not only shocked by the forwardness of his desires, but the way that desire changes his features.  Changing his already handsome face to something truly radiant.  Draco's body recognizes this change, even going to so far as to be aroused by it.  While at the same time, his brain sends up a signal of panic through his blood stream, screaming  _This cannot be happening!_  
  
"You're drunk, Potter,"  Draco says, finally finding his tongue.  He pushes at the center of Potter's chest, trying to put some distance between them but Harry simply grabs onto his hand.  Pressing the captured palm down against his chest so Draco can feel the firmness of his muscles beneath his finger tips and the way his heart is beating beneath his rib cage.  A frantic, racing clip too similar to his own.   
  
"So what if I am drunk?  You are too.  Doesn't change what I want.  What I've wanted for years…"  He tucks a piece of stray lock of hair behind Draco's ear, curling the end of it around his finger as he does.  "There is it, Draco.  The truth.  I've always found you…so fucking gorgeous.  Back in school, I never understood how I could want a spoiled, little shit like you, but I did.  And now…now, I know, you're not a shit.  You're bloody brilliant and kind and you're my friend…"  
  
It is the final word that breaks Draco down to the point where he can no longer resist meeting Potter's gaze.  Their faces are so close the fringe of their hair brushes as Draco lifts his.  When he looks into Potter's eyes, they are filled with all the intensity that he feared they would be.    
  
Potter is so uncomplicated.  Every want and desire laid bare in those eyes of his.  Without even trying, Draco can see just where his mind is going.  Exactly what Harry hopes will happen next.  How can he deny such straightforward desire?  No games, no baggage.  Just pure, unrestricted feelings.    
  
Perhaps after all these months of insinuated emotions and assumed feelings, having to decipher every look and every touch to glean their meaning, it is the simplicity of Harry's offer, even if it isn't Harry himself, that Draco feeling himself drawn towards.    
  
They both know what comes next.  Even if Draco wasn't curious to find out what kissing Harry Potter would feel like, the intensity of the moment has left them with no other option.   _It's just a kiss_ , Draco rationalizes, thinking once of Brian and what he would think if he knew he was kissing another man.  
  
But the kiss never comes.  The moment ruined as a man who had been watching their every move for quite some time, suddenly makes his unwelcome presence known.  Draco's pales as he looks up, recognizing the look of complete and utter revulsion on the other man's face.  
  
It is an easy enough thing for Draco to do.  After all, he's seen that look before.

*

Draco's heart, which only seconds before had been leaping erratically in his chest in anticipation of the forbidden kiss, slams once, hard, against his rib cage. Then it restarts in a quick, adrenaline driven clip. He drops his hand from where he had been grasping Harry's waist, instinctively touching the small pocket on the side of his thigh where he keeps his wand. The feeling of smooth hawthorn beneath his jeans is a comforting presence.    
  
He looks back at Harry, whose face is still intimately close to his. Their kiss had been a breath's width away, yet all romance has vanished from his eyes. It is replaced instead by focus and poise, having already intuited the serious nature of the situation. They are the resolute eyes of not only the man who had offed the Dark Lord, but also those of a damn fine Auror-to-be.   
  
"You have your wand?" Draco breathes, his lips hardly moving and Harry nods. Draco turns towards their unwelcome intruder, tossing his head to move the hair off his face. But in that moment, it is a defiantly flippant gesture.  
  
"So, Perry. We meet again. Does this mean you're my stalker now?"    
  
The man stands only a few feet away from the table. His arms are crossed across his chest and his honey-colored curls outline a face that has the potential to be attractive, if it weren't for the look on his face that makes it look like he's just smelled something putrid. He takes a few steps forward into the circle of light around their table. A wave of his hand and a subtle shift in air pressure indicates the casting of a Notice-Me-Not charm. The wandless magic is rudimentary at best, but it does the trick, subtly muting the noise of the club around them and distracting the gaze of anyone who might look their way.    
  
"This encounter is just an unfortunate coincidence, I'm afraid." Perry says as he takes a seat in the booth across from Draco. He looks once at Harry and snorts callously, before looking back at Draco. "You and I have really got to stop meeting like this."  
  
"Agreed. It always ends so... unpleasantly, our meetings." Draco answers with mock sadness. "I'm glad to see your bruises have healed from last time though."    
  
"Oh, you barely even left me with a scratch."    
  
"Funny." Draco drones. "I didn't know mere scratches could bleed so profusely."  
  
Perry sets his jaw, the corner of his eye twitching at Draco's jab. "So, people finally figure out just exactly who you are back in Pittsburgh? That why you're in New York? Trying to find a new place to hid from your past?"  
  
"No, I just couldn't stand living in the same city as you, actually. So it's really unfortunate you're here. I've become quite fond of New York."  
  
"Sorry to burst your bubble."  
  
"Well you could always leave. I thought you were sick of the New York scene anyway."   
  
"Free country. I can change my mind if I want to."  
  
Draco snorts, "Yeah, that is assuming there is actually a mind in your head to change."  
  
"Look, I didn't come over here for your witty banter."  
  
"No? Shame. Any particular reason then, or are you just looking to have your face punched in again?"    
  
"I thought I should warn your friend here." He tilts his head towards Harry, ignoring Draco's rising anger. "Explain to him exactly what sort of filth he's hanging around with. I never got a chance to warn that other guy you were with, so I feel like it's my duty…"  
  
"The only filth I see here is you." Harry cuts him off, surprising both Perry and Draco when he speaks. His words are slow, but dangerous.    
  
Perry smirks. Tittilated by the idea of facing off against not one, but two wizards. He turns, addressing Harry directly now.  
  
"You look like a good enough guy. Trust me, you do not want to be seen with the likes of him."  
  
Harry steals a glance out of the corner of his eye at Draco. Both men making a note of how Perry hasn't recognized him yet.   
  
"And why it that?" Harry asks, his brain spinning with ways he can use this gap in Perry's knowledge to his advantage.  
  
"You should see how he treats his lovers. His former one, a Muggle man, I can only imagine the  _Cunfundus_  charms he had him under just to keep him with him. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd even used the  _Imperious_."  
  
"No, Perry, that was  _you_  who used the mind controlling spells. And just so the record is clear that 'former' lover you speak of is still my current lover." Draco interjects, rubbing his fingers against his forehead, not daring to look at Harry.    
  
"Really?" Perry asks, with a grin. "You two were looking  _awful_  cozy."  
  
Guilt ripples through Draco's gut and Potter blushes, directing his gaze down and away from Draco.    
  
"Just leave us the bloody fuck alone." Potter mumbles.    
  
"But don't you know who this guy is?" Perry continues, leaning conspiratorially towards Harry and lowering his voice to a hush. "Do you have any idea what he's done?"  
  
Harry's head snaps up, eyes suddenly glowing. "I know exactly who he. And I know exactly what he's done, because I was there." Harry says, fearless.  
  
"How?" Perry asks curtly, looking Harry up and down. "You don't have the Mark."  
  
"No, but I've got this." Harry pushes the hair on his forehead out of the way and Perry's eyes widen, bewildered, at the sight of the famous scar.  
  
Draco can't quite believe it himself. Harry - Harry who hates flaunting his name, Harry who hates using his image as "The Chosen One" to sway people or gain power, Harry who keeps that lighting shaped scar covered with a smattering of bangs just to have any chance at being normal - is doing all those things he loathes, just to defend Draco.   
  
Perry is well and truly stunned. And for a moment he seems to forget that he is supposed to be intimidating Draco, and simply stares at the man beside him.    
  
"Wha-…I mean, is it really you?"    
  
"Yes, it's really me." Harry says, mustering enough inebriated swagger to yank the reigns of this situation directly out of Perry's hands and squarely into his hands. "So what you really have to ask yourself, Perry," The name trips off his lips like one might say the punchline to joke, "Is if you feel like insulting the vanquisher of Voldemort tonight. Because when you insult my friends, you insult me. And, as I'm sure you're aware, I go to great lengths when my friends are in trouble."  
  
Perry stares at Harry. And Harry stares right. Though his glare is the heavy lidded look of the very drunk, Potter still manages to make is daunting. After a few moments, where the tension at the table is almost palatable, Perry is the one to acknowledge the mismatch.   _He might be an ignorant bigot, but clearly he's not stupid enough to fight Potter_ , Draco thinks.    
  
Perry stands, rolling his shoulders and lacing his fingers together, cracking his knuckles out in front of him. He drops the Notice-Me-Not charm and looks around the club casually, almost to see if anyone had seen him perform the magic. Which of course no one had.    
  
"I'm not in the mood for fighting tonight." He says, looking back at the table. Then he gestures at his torso. "New shirt."    
  
"A bully but still a fag," Draco says offhandedly to Harry, assuming this confrontation is finally over.    
  
But then Perry is there, shoving a threatening finger into Draco's face. Perry towers over him, thuggish and heinous that he almost looks like a different man.    
  
"Don't you  _dare_  think this is over, Draco Malfoy." Perry hisses, his nostrils flaring. "Some time, when you're alone, when you think you're safe, when we're not in public or surrounded by your powerful, little friends, I will finish this. Once and for all. It'll make what they did to daddy dearest look like a mercy sentence. And it will be nothing less than what you deserve, you sick son of a bitch."    
  
With one last penetrating stare, that makes Draco's breath catch in his chest, Perry struts off. Only to walk directly into an oncoming Brian. The two men stare at each other for a fraction of a second, confusion flashing over Brian's already perturbed face. Perry makes a noise of disgust in the back of his throat as he recognizes Brian and finally slips off into the crowd.  
  
Brian watches him retreat. Filling through the countless, nameless faces of men he's come into contact with over the years until he finally pairs that face with Perry's name. He hadn't recognized him without Draco's cock in his mouth. Or blood all over his face.  
  
Brian sits down at the table, assessing the damage Perry has undoubtedly left in his wake. Draco is staring blankly at his hands clasped in his lap and Harry is chugging his beer down in a series great gulps.    
  
"I've been walking around this corner of the club twenty minutes looking for this table and couldn't find you." Brian says gently.    
  
"Notice-Me-Not Charm." Draco intones. His lifeless words tell Brian everything he needs to know about the situation. "You could have walked past this table for twenty years and never found us."  
  
"So that  _was_  him? That was Perry?" Draco nods once, his lips pressed into a line, pale line. "How the fuck did he know we were here? Why isn't he Pittsburgh? What did he say?" When no one will meet his eye, let alone answer him, Brian snaps. "Will someone fucking tell me what happened?"    
  
"Nothing." Draco mutters, shaking his head. Then he lifts his face towards Brian, but doesn't quite meet his eyes. "Nothing happened, Bri. It was just his usual bullshit. It doesn't matter."  
  
"Doesn't matter?" It is now Harry's turn to snap. He slams his now empty bottle down and gestures emphatically. "Draco, how can you say that? I just sat here as he threatened your life!"  
  
"He what?" Brian flares, looking from Harry back to Draco.   
  
"We should tell Chief Minor." Harry says, regaining some composure.    
  
"Harry, no." Draco says giving Harry a pleading look. "Besides it's not like I haven't gotten them before."  
  
Brian's hand is there in an instant. His warm fingers intertwining with Draco's beneath the table and a surge of reassurance, mixed with a healthy portion of fear, passes through him. He didn't think Perry could get to him anymore, but clearly...  
  
He finally looks at Brian in earnest, seeing nothing but concern in those luminous hazel eyes of his.    
  
"I want to go home." He tells Brian, who immediately springs into action, collecting coats and going to the bar to pay their tab. The evening having been brought to an abrupt and dramatic conclusion.

*

For the city that supposedly never sleeps, the lower west side of Manhattan can be at stunningly lonely at 3:27 AM on a Thursday.    
  
Especially when you are sitting on the roof of your partner's apartment, a cigarette in one hand and a tumbler full of Jim Beam in the other. Your fur-collard leather jacket, that you usually don't even take out of your closet until December is thrown over your shoulders to fight off the penetrating stillness of the pre-dawn air. But even so, goose bumps speckle your skin as you contemplate emotions you never thought you'd need to.  
  
Such is the current state of things for Brian Kinney.  
  
Draco's been asleep for hours now. Or at least he's been in bed. Considering the drawn expression on his face and the way he had clenched his shoulders up towards his ears for the entire duration of the cab ride home, Brian has little hope for Draco getting a good nights rest.   
  
He takes a draw on his cigarette and, realizing that this one is nearly smoked down to the filter, tips the pack on the table in front of him so a few more spill out onto the glass. He'll smoke all of them before the night is over, he's sure.  
  
It had taken the first three cigarettes to even put a name to this feeling that is troubling his mind. The thing that is keeping him from joining Draco in their warm, spacious bed.    
  
Jealousy is, after all, a very complex medley of feelings. And just like everything Draco has made Brian feel, he feels it for the first time. He had recognized the anger easily enough. And the resentment. Those emotions staple feelings from his childhood. Having had a fantastic role model in the art of being a ruthless son of a bitch in his father, Jack Kinney.    
  
But it was the present and persistent aches of sadness, disappointment and insufficiency that had needed further introspection.    
  
Upon arriving home, Draco had dropped his coat, kicking the velveteen Armani out of the way as wandered straight into the kitchen. Brian had hung up the coat in the entry way closet then followed him. Draco had poured himself a large glass of water and dumped the contents of a small vile from the cabinet next to the fridge into it. He had swallowed the whole thing down as Brian approached softly from behind    
  
"Are you alright?" Brian had asked gently.  
  
"What the fuck do you think?" The blond had snapped.  
  
"Tell me." Brian had encouraged, gently laying his palms on his tense shoulders. But instead of feeling those muscles melt beneath his hands, Draco had shrugged off the touch.   
  
"I have class in six hours. I need to sleep." He'd said and had gone into the bedroom without another word.   
  
The toilet had flushed. The sink had run. The hallway light had been shut off. All the while Brian had stood in the kitchen, his hips resting against the counter and his thumb nail between his teeth, trying to make sense of why Draco's silence hurt so damn much.    
  
He pours a bit more Beam into his glass, choking back a healthy mouthful.    
  
After dancing with the Spaniard for a few songs, Brian had had enough of the other man's overly developed muscles. They had felt too big and too bulky against Brian's narrow frame. The man's deep olive skin and nearly black eyes, while undeniably sexy, weren't what Brian was craving and had done little to spark his libido. So instead of inviting the man to the back room, he'd asked him to point out where to get the best drugs.   _At least he had been good for something._    
  
He's come down from his high now. In fact, any buzz he had been feeling had evaporated the moment he ran, full on, into Perry. But for those first few minutes, that drug induced oblivion had perhaps never felt so deserved.    
  
His normal laundry list of vices has been put on hold, as of late. Replaced instead by hours at the office and weekends in New York. There simply hasn't been the time to fuck and tweak like he used to. But even if there had been the time, Brian isn't so sure how much of that he'd be doing anymore. It's hasn't felt as important to be stoned all the time when there are good things to look forward to. And it isn't so important to fuck every hot guy he sees, when the one he fucks regularly is hotter than all of them.    
  
An idea has been simmering away at the back of his brain for the past few weeks. These celibate weeks where the only lips he's tasted have been Draco's. The only cock. The only ass. All it would take is another month of living the way he has, some simple blood work…    
  
 _And then I could feel him like that again…no condoms, no spells, no fear.  
_  
Those had been the thoughts, idealistic and embarrassingly romantic, filling his delirious brain when he'd walked directly into Perry. They'd left the bar quickly after that. And Brian had wandered out to the curb to flag down a cab, Harry insisting the entire time that he was fine to apparate home.  
  
"Is that a good idea?" Brian had asked Draco, his hand still raised in a hail. Brian didn't know that much about the nature of actually doing magic, but if Harry looked too drunk to drive, certainly making yourself disappear and reappear somewhere else probably wasn't a good idea either.    
  
Draco, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat, had looked sullenly back at his friend and shook his head.    
  
"Come back to mine. You can floo from there." Draco had said, clasping Harry by the biceps, as the other man teetered on his feet.  
  
"I'm fine.   _Really_." Harry asserted. "I might not make it to class tomorrow but I can fucking apparate myself home."  
  
Draco had looked at him for a moment then released his arms. "Alright. But don't come crying to me if you splinch yourself."  
  
Harry had nodded, snickering. A cab pulled up just then and Brian held open the door for Draco.    
  
"Thanks, Harry." Draco had said softly. "For…well, you know…being a fucking hero."    
  
"Whatever. It's what I do best." He'd smiled sadly. "Besides, I've always liked putting pretentious bastards in their place. You should know that." Draco had smiled. "I still think you should tell chief."  
  
"Please don''t blow this out of proportion." Draco'd said, kicking at the side walk.    
  
Then Harry had dropped his voice to a volume he'd hoped Brian wouldn't hear. But in his drunken state, he had under estimated the volume of his voice and of course, Brian had. "I'm sorry. About… earlier. What I said...Can you just forget it?"  
  
"Don't you dare apologize for that." Draco had stressed in a stern whisper, catching Potter's chin in his hand. "I'll call you tomorrow, yeah?" Draco had continued, tilling his head to catch Harry's eye.    
  
Something in his voice had made Brian look back over his shoulder. And what he saw made every nerve in his body flash with white, hot jealousy. The way Draco's thumb had brushed against Harry's cheek, the wistfulness in Harry's eyes, the look that passed between them - it all played into every single one of Brian's insecurities.    
  
He had been so confident earlier in the evening. Sure that even if Harry Potter had ended up looking like Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing he knew where Draco's inentions lay. But that look had changed everything… _And now…_  
  
Now he's not one iota closer to knowing how to deal with what he is feeling. But the sky is glowing with the rapidly approaching dawn and he has run out of cigarettes, so he heads to bed.   
  
Draco body is overly hot beneath blankets and the sheets feel damp on Brian's night-cooled skin. He lays awake until Draco gets up over an hour later. Curling on his side and pretending to sleep as Draco dresses. But right before leaving, Draco kneels down beside the bed, pressing a small kiss to each one of Brian's fingers curled over the edge of the comforter. Then another to his forehead, letting his lips linger and his fingers comb through Brian's hair. Then, and only then, does Brian sleep. His troubled heart soothed that maybe things are what they seem after all.    
  
When Draco returns later that afternoon, he looks better than the night before. Tired and still a bit defeated, but certainly much more like himself. The smile he gives Brian, when he finds him on the couch, a beer in his hand and another one waiting, already open for Draco, is warm. He curls down next to Brian on the couch, resting his head in his lover's lap and Brian's fingers are instantly drawn to his feathery hair. They watch a show on the history channel about the Crusades but say nothing.  
  
"Did you get any sleep?" Draco asks as a show about the extinction of dinosaurs begins.  
  
"Some."  
  
"Good. Class was brutal today. I'm beginning to think that Harry had the right idea staying home."  
  
"So you haven't talked to him today?"    
  
"No..." Draco says, suspicion creeping into his voice. "Why do you ask?"  
  
 _Damn him and his fucking intuition._  
  
"Just curious. You seemed pretty grateful to him last night."  
  
"I was." Draco turns onto his back, looking up at the ceiling, slightly wistful. "Harry was brilliant. I'm glad he was there."    
  
Brian doesn't want what he says next to come out the way it does, but after nearly 30 years of being a heartless, asshole old habits die hard. And there is something comforting about slipping into that familiar, calloused skin.   
  
"So how long have you been fucking him?"  
  
Draco's eyes nearly fall out of his head. "What?"  
  
"Harry. How long?" Brian bites out the words. His jaw clenched.  
  
Draco sits, his delicate brow furrows into flabbergasted lines. "You're joking, right? I told you. Harry is a virgin."  
  
"Ok fine. I'll rephrase.   _When_  are you planning on fucking him?"  
  
"I'm not."    
  
"Oh come on, don't play the innocent with me. I saw how he looked at you last night. How you looked at him. I know that look, Draco. I've seen it enough times from tricks that I've turned down or…Michael to know what it means."  
  
"Brian…" Draco pleads, but when he sees the severity in Brian's eyes he sits back, spine stiffening. "Alright." He juts his pointed chin, covered in a day's worth of stubble, up higher. "He wants to sleep with me. He told me last night. Told me that he's wanted me for years and said how much easier it would be if I were his first instead of having to go find some other fellow." Draco looks down, toying with the frayed edge of his jeans. "I was about to kiss him when Perry showed up."    
  
Brian tries not to react visibly, so the extreme tightening in his chest compensates for his unflinching exterior.  
  
"Does that upset you? " Draco asks in a tone that indicates he knows full well that is does. "Because I could, you know. There's nothing to stop me from sleeping with Harry. We have no agreement. No rules."    
  
"You're right." Brian says roughly, the words cutting his vocal chords like a knife. "Do it. He's cute."  
  
"He's alright." Draco replies dryly, daring to let a smile tug at his lips at the repeated conversation. "He's not you."  
  
"Well, don't let me be the one to keep you from doing something you want." Brian stands, grabbing their empty beer bottles to take into the kitchen. He dumps them on the counter and opens the fridge for another, realizing that Draco choosing to fuck Harry might just be a truth he'll have to learn how to stomach.    
  
"You're fucking infuriating, you know that?" Draco says from where he leans against the door frame. Even though his words are aggressive, his tone and demeanor are anything but. His legs are crossed at the ankles and his arms crossed loosely over his middle, an amused smile playing at his lips. His narrow hips are canted just so and his hair is ruffled from having Brian's hands in it for the last half hour. Brian's fingers twist around the damp glass of the beer bottle and he thinks,  _How am I supposed to share him?_  
  
Draco saunters over to Brian, grabbing hold of his hips and pinning him against the refrigerator. "You're like some black hole that absorbs all my statements of love, sucking them into your darkest places but letting them affect nothing."  
  
 _Affect nothing? Do you not see the state I'm in right now?_  Brian thinks.   
  
"You're jealous." Draco says, taking a step back.   
  
"Do you blame me?"  
  
"No." Draco answers. "Harry's attractive and powerful and kind. And he wants me."  
  
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Brian asks, rubbing at his forehead.    
  
"I don't know. But you're pretty cute when you're like this." Draco laughs softly and Brian rolls his eyes, dropping his hands to his side.    
  
"Look, I just want to know where I stand."  
  
"Where you -?" Draco breathes, closing the space between them in a single pace. He cups Brian's face gently. His silver eyes ghosting over Brian's skin like a calm breeze. "You stand by my side, Brian. As my lover. My partner. For life if you'll have me. When will you believe that? What do I have to do to convince you? How many times do I have to say it? A hundred? A million? Because I'll do it…I'll do anything."  
  
But even as Draco folds Brian into his arms, whispering repeated and insistent words of commitment and love and affection and need against his cheek, the image of that look shared between Draco and Harry flashes in his mind's eye. The gentle intensity. The unanswered longing.    
  
Brian clutches the back of Draco's shirt, burying his head in the crook of Draco's neck. Letting himself, if only just for this moment, believe Draco's pretty lies.


	10. Chapter 10

Monday morning, Sam Hollander from Liberty Air calls, giving Brian the news he had long been waiting to hear: the account is his.    
  
The two men chat amiably, both happy with how the long process has been resolved. And through some cryptic questions and equally veiled answers Brian is able to establish that they will follow him wherever he goes.  
  
First he tells Cynthia, but the quick-witted blond had already figured out what was happening. Putting it all together when she put the call through and the line had stayed busy for so long.  
  
His next call is to Gwen, whose happy response is well contained and professional, though Brian can tell she would rather squeal like a little girl.  
  
Next is a call to Draco, even though Brian knows he is in class. It goes straight to voicemail like he expects, but he still leaves him word of the good news nonetheless.  
  
Then he calls Michael, who is at his mom's house having breakfast with her and Vic when he gets the news. He calls Emmett who tells Ted, who informs Melanie, who tells Lindsay when she goes home for lunch. And by the end of the day, the whole "family" knows and a small party is planned for that evening at Michael and Emmett's place.  
  
It is a quickly thrown together celebration but is no less festive for its short notice. Emmett makes Manhattans and a New York style cheesecake. It is a strange combination, but the flair with which he serves it, still puts a smile on Brian's face.  
  
Everyone from Pittsburg who means anything to him is there. All the boys, Deb and Vic, Lindsay and Melanie and Gus. Brian can't remember the last time they were all together like this, celebrating something good. But even with all the beaming smiles and warm congratulations there is an undercurrent of loss to the evening. A hint of the sadness to come. Brian feels it in the way Michael hugs him extra tight, kissing him soundly even as his new beau, David, stands near by. He hears it when Debbie's voice catches, kissing his cheek and saying, "I'm proud of you, kid." And he sees it in the tears that fill Lindsay's eyes as she presses Gus into his arms and whispers, "We love you."  
  
The party doesn't last long, it is a Monday night after all, and Brian is back at the loft by midnight, feeling slightly tipsy and a bit nostalgic.   _How many more times with I walk through this door?_ The blue lights over the bed, which he knows had not been on when he left, are glowing softly and they call him towards the bedroom and Draco's waiting, naked form.   
  
"Hey." Brian says, smirking and enjoying the view.   
  
"Hope I'm not premature with all this." Draco says, looking up at him coyly through his longish fringe. Brian doesn't know whether he means the bottle of chilled champagne by the bed or his nakedness, but Brian simply shakes his head, already kicking off his shoes and undoing his belt.    
  
As they tumble together, Brian tries to simply enjoy this moment. To take this happiness that Draco is giving him for the perfect moment that it is. But he can't stop himself, as he runs his tongue across Draco's ivory body, from analyzing the taste. Searching for a hint of Harry on his skin.  
  
He finds none.  
  
Draco leaves early the next morning. His platinum hair reflecting the icy, day-light-savings time sun as he leans in to kiss Brian goodbye.    
  
Brian gets up sometime later, taking his time in the shower, giving himself a good shave, putting on his new Prada suit. The one he'd picked up the last time he was in New York. He arrives at Ryder nearly an hour late and not giving a rat's ass about it.   _What can Ryder do? Fire me? Fine. Save me the bother of quitting._  
  
Cynthia tells him Marty Ryder, his soon-to-be former boss, wants to see him as soon as he gets in. Brian straightens his tie as Cynthia gives him a coiled grin and he walks into Ryder's office ready to drop the atom bomb of his departure right over Ryder's fat head.  
  
Ryder is beaming behind his desk. As he should be. He thinks that his best ad exec has just landed the biggest campaign the firm has ever seen. Little does he know, he is about to lose both.    
  
"Brian, sit, sit. I'm glad you made it in today. I wouldn't have blamed you if you hadn't. You deserve some time off."  
  
"I'll keep that in mind." Brian says.  
  
Ryder swivels in his chair, clearing his throat.  
  
"We need to talk future."  
  
"Agreed. I was going to have Cynthia set up an appointment with you when I got in this morning, but you beat me to it."  
  
Ryder sits back, his cheery smile fading with a restrained chuckle. "You know, you've done a good job keeping all your goings on in New York quite secret the past few months, Brian. I'm stunned the rumor mill didn't catch onto it sooner."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about." Brian lies, crossing his legs.  
  
"Gwen Dryer and…Reid Andretti, is it? Damn you three will make one hell of a team." He shakes his head, tenting his fingers in front of him. "I pity those small boy New York firms. They don't stand a chance against you guys."    
  
"Look, Marty. I didn't intend for it all to come out like this." Brian says earnestly, but Ryder just waves off his apologies.  
  
"Oh, please." He scoffs. "Don't you think we've all been in your shoes before? Trying to manipulate the system to our best advantage. Besides, it's the sneaky, little shit like this that makes you so fantastic at what you do. I can't stop you. There are no laws against what you did and what you are planing to do. But I do think you might have been a bit premature in telling Gwen to print the Andretti, Reid and Kinney letterhead."  
  
"Premature how?"  
  
"Come on. You're a better business man than that Brian. Don't you want to see my counter offer?" Ryder holds out a business card. On the corner that isn't covered by Marty's thumb, Brian can see the Ryder emblem. He eyes Ryder for a moment, trying to figure out what the man is getting at, and finally takes the card.  
  
 _Brian Kinney_ , it says.   _Vice President. Ryder, Kinney and Associates. Pittsburg, PA._  
  
"Marty…" Brian breathes. He looks up at the other man, who is grinning like the Cheshire cat then back down at the card. Re-reading is many times over. "I don't know what to say." Brian finally manages, still stunned by Ryder's offer and all that it implies.  
  
"I've made Brian Kinney speechless. Must be a pretty good offer."  
  
"It's... not bad." Brian says, lifting one brow and snorting softly through his nose.  
  
"It's nothing less that what you deserve. You're the best I've ever had work for me. Now I want you to work with me." Ryder says, his tone sincere. "Take your time. Sleep on it. I know there are other things in New York for you that I can't offer you." He emphasizes the word and Brian wonders how long Marty has known about his relationship with Draco. "But I need you here. Not in New York."  
  
Brian takes the rest of the day off, holing himself up in the loft. Sprawled across his bed with a coin bag full of choice weed and his rolling papers.    
  
This was not supposed to happen. This was never supposed to be a choice. He was supposed to be able to leave Pittsburgh without a second thought. Without a moment's hesitation. It was supposed to be so fucking easy to walk away and never look back.  
  
But now, as he closes his eyes, pressing on the lids with his fingers to offset the stinging - a stinging which has nothing to do with smoke swirling around his head - he finds the idea of leaving for New York a near impossibility.  
  
And it isn't simply the offer from Ryder, even though it is mind boggling. It is so many little uncertainties that have been creeping upon him. Michael's irreplaceable friendship, his unanticipated interest in being a part of Gus's life and most staggering of all, his newly admitted intense love for Draco.  
  
He had not said it out loud. Never that. But he feels it no less sincerely for its silence.   _I must love him_ , Brian thinks.  _What else could make me feel as miserable as this?  
_  
Because Brian does not love Draco simply. But with a vice-like grasp. He  _loves_  him. Is in love. Loves with a capitol L. Loves so much that the emotion has taken on a physical presence. Manifesting as a tangible feeling in Brian's chest. A clutching tightness that he can point to and say,  _This is where my love for him dwells_.  
  
Admitting to the intensity of his feelings had been surprisingly easy, happening sometime between the debacle at Nectar on Thursday and his meeting this morning. It had not come to him as a shock or a jolt. Just a quiet absorption of facts that had been there for quite sometime.    
  
Because it was never the existence of love that Brian denied, but his belief in its perfection. Brian only ever saw love as a flawed, broken act. Destined to wear down until it breaks. To fall apart. To fail. He'd seen it with his parents. His sister. All of Michael's attempts to find "the one".    
  
If love is timeless and eternal, why then are all the symbols of love so fleeting? Red roses that wilt. Beating hearts that over time grow old, slow and die. Precocious Cupid who plucks his arrow on any viable lover with no thought of loyalty. Brian knows that someday, perhaps sooner than he even knows, Draco will leave him. Whether it is to be with Harry or simply to find something better, this palpable love will abandon him. Vanishing and leaving him with nothing but emptiness in that formerly occupied place in his chest.    
  
It is all simply too much. Too much feeling. To much intensity. Too many expectations. Too many cities. Too many parallel worlds. He is being pulled in too many directions. His heart and his wishes pulling him in one way while history and caution push him in another.    
  
What, then, does he do? How does he decide? What is he willing to risk? To sacrifice? His career? His heart? Either way, people who matter to him will be hurt. Either way, he'll be sacrificing so much.  
  
Brian curls up on his side, pressing his damp face to his pillow. And a part of him folds up on the inside. Simply giving up and giving in.  
  
Sometime later - minutes, hours…Brian doesn't know - the soft whoosh of the fireplace rouses him from his melancholy haze.  
  
"Brian? You here?"  
  
"I'm here." Brian's voice is gruff and tired, as he pushes himself up into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.  
  
"I'm sorry I didn't call first." Draco calls from the living room. His light footsteps moving around the loft. "I'm only here for a second. I think I might have left one of my books here and I - ah! Here it is! I gotta get back though. I'm meeting Harry to do some work on our potions project."  
  
Brian drops his face to his hands. _Harry again._ His choice is made.  
  
"Brian." Draco's voice is gentle and soft at the foot of the bed. So deceptively loving. "Bri, what's happened?"  
  
Brian swallows, willing himself to look up at Draco. Even though he knows looking into those haunting eyes might be the end of him.   _Come on, Kinney. You're stronger than this._  
  
"Ryder gave me an offer today to stay at the firm." Brian intones, keeping his voice as level as possible. Draco sits on the edge of the bed. "He wants to me be his VP."  
  
Draco's brows jump up his forehead. "Vice President. Of the firm?" Brian nods and an appreciative smile graces Draco's face, as he looks down at the book in his hands. "Wow, they really are desperate for you to stay, aren't they?"    
  
"I'm going to accept."  
  
Draco looks up. And while his face remains calm, his heart rate doubles. "You are?"  
  
"I belong here."  
  
"No you don't." Draco laughs, still thinking that Brian can't be serious. "You hate it here. You've wanted to leave for as long as you can remember. I mean, just last night…"  
  
"Yeah, last night I was ready to go to New York." He looks at Draco, his face falling. "But things are different now."  
  
"I just don't understand. How can this one offer change so much?"  
  
"Because it isn't just about that."  
  
"What then?"  
  
"Gus. Lindsay. Michael. My whole life is here."  
  
Draco's spine prickles. His voice a fearful hush. "Your whole life?"  
  
Brian meets his eyes. "Mostly."  
  
He can see the way the word pierces Draco's tender heart. A shudder rocks his body at Brian's unanticipated callousness. He attempts to recover, putting an uncharacteristically happy spin on things.    
  
"Well, it makes sense. And with the floo, it'll be no worse than if I lived across town." Draco reaches for Brian's hand. But Brian pulls away, standing hastily as those nimble fingers threaten to encircle his wrist. The blond's gentle touch, just like everything seems to be today, is simply too much for him to bear.   
  
Brian plants himself at the top of the stairs, keeping his back to Draco. "Look, I've been thinking. I'm going to be…really busy taking over the new responsibilities and you're so busy with school. And with you in New York and me here…I don't really know how we've managed before now..."  
  
"I knew this would happen." Draco cuts him off. His voice is so soft, and yet it freezes Brian nearly as much as if he had screamed. He stands, approaching Brian slowly from behind. "I knew one day the other shoe would drop. That you would realize all of this is too much for you and you'd freak out. But it doesn't have to happen. Don't do this, Brian. Be honest. You know this is what you want."    
  
"No, it isn't." Brian snaps, rounding on Draco who takes a stunned step back. "It's never what I wanted. I never wanted a boyfriend."  
  
"Oh, so we're back to this are we?" Draco asks, sneering.  
  
"I've told you that from the very beginning."   
  
"You're the one who used the fucking word."  
  
"But you're the one who asked for everything that goes along with it." Brian points an accusing finger at Draco. "Move in together, fuck raw...."  
  
"You gave me those things willingly, Brian. To use them against me is complete bullshit." Draco counters with an aggressive gesture of his own, not backing down from Brian's ire.   
  
"It's just easier this way." Brian says, walking past him towards the bathroom.  
  
"Easier for who?" Draco spins, arms flailing desperately.    
  
"For both of us!" Brian shouts, turning back towards him. "You can go live in your magic world, fight your dark wizards, be with Harry…"  
  
"Harry?!" Draco plants his hands on his hips, bending at his waist as if about to laugh. Of course humor is the further emotion from his mind. Feeling instead a sickening mixture of anger and grief and confusion. "I don't know how many times I've said it since Thursday night, but there is nothing going on with between us. And Harry has nothing to do with this."  
  
"Of course he fucking does."  
  
"He has become nothing more than my very good friend. And I am not going to defend my friendship with him to you when I have been forced to watch you snog your best friend right in front of me."  
  
"That's different."  
  
"Why? Because it's Michael? Who, may I remind you, has wanted you just as much and for just as long, as Harry has wanted me. What? You decided you want to go off and be with Michael then?"  
  
"Don't be ridiculous…"  
  
"Oh, right because you're being so fucking sensible!"  
  
The two men stare each other down. Draco's eyes are bright with emotion, his cheeks flushed. Even in this moment, where everything ends, Brian is struck by Draco's poise. His ability to stand up for himself. And  _fight_. Battling for them and  _this_ , when all of Brian's will has left him. He sinks to the bed with a resigned sigh and speaks with a weary tone.  
  
"You don't know what it is like to have to make a choice like this. To have so many people counting on you. Waiting on your decision. Where you have to choose between what you want and what is expected of you."  
  
Draco stares at him coldly, his nostrils flaring with pure, unbidden disbelief. Brian quickly replays his words and hates himself right away.    
  
"You're so right, Brian. I have no idea what having make a choice like that would feel like." Draco shifts on his feet, shaking his head. His mood changing from determination to simple indignation.    
  
"Draco..."  
  
"No, no, maybe you're right. Maybe I should go be with Harry. We'd be the toast of England. A sign of the new times. The Savior and the Death Eater…the press would fucking love it. We could write a book together, go on press tours. And you can just stay here." He gestures at the loft.  "Keep fucking the same mediocre guys, at your mediocre club, in this pathetically mediocre city. You can keep working at your mediocre firm. But hey, now at least you'll be in charge of every single mediocre campaign they produce. Because you're right. It is easier. It's easier than you having to take a stand. To take a risk. It's easier than admitting to yourself and to the whole work that you have changed. That you aren't the same man I met a year ago. That you fucking love me..."  
  
Draco stops, the tears streaming so thickly down his cheeks that he can't go on. He wipes at his face fiercely, sniffling once.    
  
"You're a fucking coward, Brian Kinney. And I've spent too much of my life being one, to spend one second more of my life  _with_  one."  
  
Less that twenty seconds later, Brian is alone again.    
  
And he is left still looking at the spot on the floor where Draco once stood. Thinking, that of all the thousands of ways he had imagined this relationship would end, he had never once imagined all the hurt he would feel at watching Draco walk away.

*

When Draco looks back on the night that his relationship with Brian ended, the events that transpired will look, in his mind's eye, like an old time movie reel. The picture, faded and yellow-hued. The movements of the players, disjointed and disconnected as if entire frames are missing. He will remember images more than feelings. Sensations more than words.    
  
He won't, for example, remember stumbling into this own apartment, having flooed home in a fit of scorn and despair, his drying tears leaving his cheeks itchy and chapped. The blasted potions book still firmly in his right hand. He won't remember muttering out loud to himself like a mad man.  
  
"If only I hadn't needed to find this fucking thing, I wouldn't have gone to the loft and Brian wouldn't have done what he did. How did that even happen? It's over. Finished. But why? How is that even possible? You're everything to me, Brian. Why are you doing this? This can't be real. Please God, no. No, no, no, no, NO!"    
  
He will remember hurling the book against the far wall with a shrill scream. And the book landing with a wholly unsatisfying thud.    
  
There will be little recollection of getting to Harry's apartment. Or his rationale for why he went. But he will remember Harry opening the door, saying, "You're late," giving him a cute smile as he passed.  
  
He won't remember Harry asking him "Merlin, Draco. What's happened?" when he finally sees Draco's tear stained face. And he won't remember how it happened that he got Potter pressed back against the door. Potter's face cupped between his two hands. But he will remember the way kissing Harry Potter felt. The impulsiveness of the kisses. Reckless and undeniably delicious. A complete lack of calculation or coyness. When Harry had opened his mouth to Draco's probing tongue, because Draco had left him little other choice, their tongues meet in a surprisingly gentle caress, tasting the undulating flesh of each other's mouths. Harry had reveled in the kiss. Luxuriating in the feels of Draco's lips slipping around his own. And Draco will remember how horribly different it felt.   _He's too slight. He's too eager. He's too clumsy._ And yet he will remember the electricity that skittered across his skin, taking up residence in his gut and in his cock.    
  
The moment when Harry tried to resist will be less distinct for Draco. Only a vague recollection of Harry asking "What the fuck are you doing?" while his hand remained clutched to the collar of Draco's wool overcoat. And Draco responding with, "Something everyone thinks I should be doing but me."   
  
He will remember regaining focus. Whispering against Potter's ear, "I'm giving you what you want, aren't I?" Shrugging off his coat and keeping his voice sensual and slow. "This is what you want isn't it? What you've always wanted? To kiss me. To  _fuck_  me." He'll remember wanting to seduce Harry, simply because he could.    
  
He won't be able to describe the way Potter smelled: the generic smell of cheap bar-soap. Nor will he remember the way his heart clenched, missing he crispness of Brian's expensive aftershave. But he will remember nipping gently at the skin just below Harry's jaw, his teeth closing around the taunt tendon of his neck and the shameless gasp it had elicited from Harry.  
  
He'll remember undoing Harry's belt. The first touch of his palm to Harry's cock. Searing hot and hard. Damp from hours of being trapped in his boxers. He'll remember dropping to his knees and asking, "Has anyone ever sucked your cock before, Harry?" And the way Potter had swallowed, his eyes still firmly shut, and simply shook his head. Draco knows he said something breathlessly rapturous in response to that. Something along the lines of "Sweet Merlin, that is spectacular."    
  
Because he most certainly remembers the frantic elation in his stomach as he realized he was to be the first man to ever take Harry's cock into his mouth. And what a cock it was. The image of that is clearly burned into his mind. His pubic hair, thick and dark. His cock so pristine and under appreciated, but oh, so lovely. His foreskin still intact and flushed, cocooning the swollen head that already wept with pre-cum. He'll always remember the surge of saliva that had filled his mouth, forcing him to swallow it back the moment before he had swallowed Harry down.  
  
There were fingers in his hair, that he'll know for certain. And amazing, pleading noises coming from between Harry's lips. But he won't remember in what manner he blew him. Had it been fast and aggressive? Sucking his cock into his mouth with intense pressure and deep penetration. Or had he been gentle? Laving Harry's length with his tongue and hand at once. Exploring the beautiful crevices and folds created by the extra bit skin, like some new play thing. Something tells him it was the latter, but he can't be sure.  
  
He'll know that there was a moment, after Harry came spectacularly in his mouth, that Draco stood, undoing his own fly and said, "Come on now, Har. It's your turn. Touch me."  
  
But he won't remember the look in Harry's eyes. The darkness of his pupils overwhelming the saturated green. He won't remember Harry asking him,  _begging_  him, "Please. Not here. Not like this." Nor will he remember taking Harry's outstretched hand and letting himself be led to Harry's bedroom.  
  
The next part of the evening will hold the biggest gaps in Draco's memory. He will attribute this to emotional over load. That his mind had reached its breaking point. Unable to take anything more.  
  
He will remember letting Harry undress him. The gentleness with which Harry pressed him back against the sheets. He'll remember the millenium, or so it seemed, that Harry spent kissing every inch of his body. He'll remember the way the brunet's fingers had trembled when he finally worked up the courage to touch Draco's desperate cock and the resolution that gentle touch had brought him. He will remember the ease with which Harry performed the lubrication spell and Harry's whispered disbelief as he began to apply it. "You're so tight, I'll never fit. I'll hurt you." followed by his own, gasping answer, "I'll stretch. Just keep doing what you're doing."    
  
But he won't remember the euphoric look on Harry's face when he finally slid, full tilt, into Draco for the first time. He won't remember the blissful sounds or repeated pants of "Oh my God, Draco. Feels so good." He won't remember the way Harry's cradled his head, his fingers pressing intently against his skull, lifting his jaw up and open to accept the thousands of deep kisses Harry offered. He won't remember the feeling of Harry collapsing on top him, his seed filling the deepest places in Draco's body. He won't remember the little laugh that had bubbled out from between Harry's lips as he realized his status as "virgin" had just been shattered to smithereens. He won't remember watching Harry sleep, a soft smile still pulling at those rosy lips. And he most certainly won't remember getting out of bed, dressing silently and leaving without a word.  
  
He won't remember that. Because he refuses to remember that. The guilt is just too overwhelming to actually admit that that is just what he did.    
  
But he can't seem to forget that last act. In fact, he seems to remember it most of all. As the guilt lingers with him for hours after. Mixing with the heartache. The desolation at having lost Brian and the disgust at himself for what he did to Harry blurring together into one numbing mass of emotion. Brown and ugly and completely self destroying.  
  
He sits now, in the student lounge, his third cup of coffee gone cold next to him. He hadn't slept a wink last night, returning home to his apartment and immediately heading to the shower. He had washed every inch of his body clean, ridding himself of Harry's spit. Harry's cum. Evicerating all evidence of his indiscretion with vicious scrubbing and scalding heat. He had lathered his hair with Brian's shampoo, filling the room with the tangy smell of the distinctive soap and wept, his limbs rocked by sobs, when he realized he would never smell be able to press his nose against Brian's hair and smell it there again.   
  
There is a book open in front of him now. Outlining the history of ward development through the modern era, but he hasn't turned a page in nearly twenty minutes. His eyes staring off at nothing. His mind distracted by everything.  
  
Just then, the pungent odor of piping hot coffee fills his nostrils and he looks up to see steam rising once again from his cup. Harry puts his wand away with a soft smile and pulls up the chair next to him.  
  
"Hey so, I was thinking about the project, and tell me if I've gone completely mental, but maybe it would be better if we tried putting verbena into the pain potion instead of dandelion. Verbena is so much easier to digest and the last thing you want on the battle field is a tummy ache in addition to a shattered open limb or whatever." Harry looks at him, looking bright eyed and sunny this morning. He looks happy and rested. He looks like he's just had a great shag. "What do you think?" He asks again. "Should we try that?"  
  
"I, um…yeah. That makes sense. And the verbena has a calming effect which might be really good too Potter, what the hell is up with you?"  
  
"Huh?" Potter looks well and truly confused. "What do you mean?"  
  
"You just being really…" Draco looks around to see if any of the other students in the lounge are watching, which they aren't. Most are too blurry eyed and in desperate need of caffeine to notice the two of them, their heads together talking in hushed tones. "Really normal." Draco averts his eyes down briefly. "Considering...."  
  
"Considering what?" Harry asks innocently, spreading open his potions text on the table. "Oh, you mean considering how we fucked last night and then you got up and left while I was still sleeping without even saying good bye? Is that what you're talking about?" Potter tilts his head, giving Draco a critical gaze.  
  
Draco blushes. "Yeah, that's pretty much what I was talking about."   
  
Harry sighs, leaning forward on his elbows. "I didn't expect you to stay all night, not like I expected any of it to happen, actually. But I wasn't expecting you to cuddle. I'm not a girl, Malfoy."  
  
"Really?" Draco spits out in a heated whisper. "Glad you told me since I surely must have misjudged your gender when I had your cock in my mouth." Harry merely laughs softly and picks up a pen.  "How come you don't hate me right now?"  
  
"Why would I hate you?"  
  
"I used you, Harry. I seduced you, fucked you and left you alone."  
  
"If that's what being used feels like then you can use me anytime." Harry gives Draco a lecherous grin.  
  
"It was your first time, Harry." Draco says, dropping his voice even lower. "Last night was not what you wanted it to be."  
  
"I had sex with the guy who I've had the hots for since I was 15. How is that not getting what I wanted?"  
  
"But you said you wanted it to mean something."    
  
Harry looks at him, his eyes softening. "Felt like it did from my end."    
  
Draco looks away, feeling like he truly might be sick. He drops his face into his hands and mutters, "I'm such a shit."  
  
"Look, I know why it happened." Harry says gently, and Draco peaks out from between two fingers to look at him. Harry looks at him like a dotting father. Eyes sympathetic, but with a hint of exasperation. "What did you two fight about?"  
  
Draco sits, smoothing himself out in the chair. If he has any hope at talking about this without breaking down, he is going to need to be as poised as possible.  
  
"We didn't. We broke up."  
  
"What?" Harry asks, incredulous. "Why? I mean, you were just telling me yesterday that he got that account he needed and he was moving h.."  
  
"Don't remind me." Draco cuts him off sharply with the first word. "It's over."  
  
"It can't be over."  
  
"He said his whole life is in Pittsburgh and I called him a fucking coward. Sounds pretty over to me."  
  
Potter sits in stunned silence for a moment, trying to reconcile in his relationship-naive mind, how ten months of being with someone can come to mean nothing. Draco uses the opportunity to take a sip of coffee.   _It needs more sugar.  
_  
"I'm sorry, Draco. I know how much you love him."  
  
Draco can only nod, his emotions finally cracking. If even Harry can acknowledge the depth of their relationship, why can't Brian? He feels tears begin to sting his eyes and he wonders how there are even tears left in his body to shed. Then Harry's sturdy fingers are slipped between his. His thumb sweeping softly across the back of his hand.  
  
"I'm here, alright? For whatever you need. Even if that means, you have to use me again."   
  
"Harry…" Draco cautions.  
  
"Sorry, sorry, sorry." Harry says hastily, flapping his free hand in a ridiculous manner as if trying to rid the air of his faux pas. "I don't know, I guess I just  _really_  liked it."   
  
"You liked sex, Potter? What a remarkably novel concept."  
  
"Oh fuck off, Malfoy." Harry chuckles, the laughter warming his cheeks.  
  
Draco snorts at him and for the first time since early the day before, a smile actually graces Draco's delicate lips, Harry's hand still curled around his.

*

After three years living in America, Draco celebrates his first Thanksgiving.    
  
He spends the decadently gluttonous holiday in McRae, Georgia at Jeb's parent's farm eating free-range turkey and vegetables that were grown just down the road.    
  
Ruby comes too. Nervously meeting the potential, future in-laws. She leaves her combat boots and silver-studded mini-tees in Manhattan. Trading them for a pair of jeans (not a rip in sight) and a black cable knit sweater. She still looks amazingly hot.  
  
Harry is there as well, equally unfamiliar with American traditions and acting as Draco's fellow "Red Coat". They sleep that night in parallel twin beds in a small room tucked up under the attic. The beds lined with warm, hand-made quilts. Little Muggle oil paintings of the country side framed on the wall. The wide Georgia moon spilling its light onto the floor.  
  
Harry slips into Draco's bed once the house has gone quiet with sleep. Kissing and pressing and feeling. They fuck quietly that night, their bellies still full. Draco casts a silencing charm, but even so, they keep their moans breathless. Private and close. Not willing to test the limits of the spell on the thin, creaking walls of this old house and potentially mortify Jeb's parents.    
  
It's only the fourth time they have had sex, so the spell of newness, the one that has nothing to do with magic, has not begun to fade. They aren't a couple. They aren't even fuck buddies. They don't talk about it really. And for that Draco is eternally grateful because he wouldn't really know what to say.    
  
Harry is a natural lover, intuitive and caring. But for all his God given ability in bed, his fucks lack any real fire, any intrigue, any danger. Draco knows that edge is within him. It will just take experience and time.   _And a more engaged lover._  
  
It's not that he doesn't enjoy being with Harry, because he really does. If the timing had been different, he would have had very little hesitation being Harry's boyfriend.   _Imagine the drama that would ensue!_ He would roll him over and showing him what it can really be like to be buggered by a man. Just like Brian had done for him. But as it is, he is still completely fucked in the head over the other brunet.    
  
Three weeks have passed and not a minute goes by when Draco doesn't think of him. Doesn't open his phone, his thumb hovering over the speed dial and wonder what Brian's reaction would be on the other end of the line. He still cries at night sometimes when he wakes up, his bed empty when it should be full. And so Draco can't rouse much passion when it comes to Harry. A true regret. They sleep together because it is easy and it is feels good. A part of him wishes he could give Harry the "more" that Draco knows he truly wants. But he simply cannot.    
  
The next morning is the first, and only, time they wake up next to one another. Draco feels slightly uneasy as Harry slips from his arms and towards the shower, a lingering, lazy eyed smile on his lips. And Draco wonders just how long this arrangement can continue before people get hurt.    
  
Brian, on the other hand, spends his Thanksgiving where he has spent nearly every holiday since high school. With Debbie Novotney and her motley crew of adopted sons. Even though he arrives late, he knows he would be remiss not to come. After all, he is the founding member of that club.   
  
There are simply too many people crammed into Debbie's cluttered house for the holiday. But that is the way Debbie likes it so there isn't a damn thing Brian can do about it. The windows fog up with the steam from Vic's cooking and small rooms ring with the sound of voices and Frank Sinatra. The carefree, holiday spirit that surrounds him only helps to accentuate Brian's quietly brooding mood and that which is not there. Or rather, who is not there.    
  
Brian eats little, but drinks much. Polishing off nearly an entire bottle of red wine by himself before dinner is even served. He tries to ignore the looks Lindsay and Emmett share, looking from him to each other and back to him with sad, pitying eyes.    
 _  
Michael should be the one getting their looks after all_ , Brian thinks, sneering at Emmett when he catches one of those compassionate stares. Dr. Dave had dumped Mikey about a week previous when he wouldn't agree to move in with him. But Michael can't seem to care about the end of his relationship. One that had ended with highly suspicious timing, coming only days after the end of Brian's. Michael swears up and down that he had his own reasons to do it. "It's too soon. I'm too young. He comes from a completely different place." And Brian hopes to God Michael is telling the truth because he can't deal with his own pain and Michael's hopeful eagerness all at one.  
  
In the intervening weeks, Brian has moved into his new office. The archetypal corner office with big windows, his own private bath and mahogany desk. But even as the champagne is popped at the company party, Brian can't help but feel like he celebrating a silver medal instead of gold. Like all of this, his whole fucking life, is second best.    
  
The constant phone calls from Gwen and Reid don't help.   _Fuck Liberty Air Brian, we don't care if they come with you or not_ and  _There has gotta be something we can do to persuade you to join us_. He had deleted all their messages. They weren't calls from the person he really wanted to hear from anyway.  
  
Brian spends as little time as possible at the loft. Staying at Babylon until the lights come on. Or working long hours at Ryder until the cleaning crew shows up and he feels too uncomfortable to stay. He has always loved his home. Always been so proud of it. A symbol of his success. His status. His lifestyle. But now he hates it. Every corner stirs a memory of Draco, each one more bitter tasting than the last.   
  
But on Thanksgiving, with his office closed and Babylon nearly empty, he is forced to be home.    
  
His eyes fall on the one thing in the apartment he hates the most. The damned fireplace. That gleaming beautiful mantle is the most painful reminder of their connection. Proof of how much trust had been between them. How much they had learned to blend their worlds, the magical and the muggle, into one easy life. Less than a year ago Brian had been blissfully unaware of magic, and would have called anyone crazy who claimed its truth. But now he has a magical fireplace in his living room. A magical object that remains obstinately quiet even when he wishes it would flare back to life, baring its miraculous gifts back to him.  
  
So in his drunkenness on the night of Thanksgiving, Brian throws a bit of that powder into the hearth, sticking his head into the grate as he had seen Draco do before and calls his former lover's name. For a moment he thinks it actually might work, the haunting green flames flare up, playing around his chest and jaw with gentle, tickling touches. But then, as if recognizing his lack of magic, they send him a reprimanding shock. A jolt small enough not to hurt but surprising enough to set him on his backside. He stares dumly as the fire gutters before finally going out. As if even the flames are reminding him that he and Draco are not meant to be.    
  
The first snow falls on Manhattan the next week. Coating the streets and roof tops as Draco sleeps fitfully in his bed. He awakes to a city, pure and white, a smile tugging at his lips and at his heart. Giving him just a bit of hope. But by then end of the day, the snow begins to melt. Flooding the streets, turning to slush and all is dismal and gray once more.    
  
The same storm that covers New York, falls on Pittsburg as well. And Brian watches the inches accumulate from a familiar window, yet another place wrought with history. Each individual flake falls like a regret. Each gust of wind penetrates his bleeding heart. He presses his forehead to the glass and for the first time, lets himself cry. Missing, so much, that part of himself which Draco still owns.  
  
Draco thought he could hate Brian. Brian thought he could forget Draco. But they are both so desperately wrong. And so, they suffer. Alone and needlessly. Both too proud and too certain in the finality of things to make amends. It would only take one of them being brave enough to try. Or a not so subtle nudge from an old friend.  
  
The day after the snow storm, Michael knocks on Brian's door shortly after he had arrived home from work. The look on Michael's face is so ridiculously perky, his arms laden with every form of junk food imaginable, that Brian can't help but give him a smile. Brittle and weary as it may be.    
  
One crappy Captain Astro DVD and a million calories later, he and Michael are sprawled on the floor, Brian's head resting on Michael's thigh as Michael gently threads his fingers through Brian's hair. For the first time in a month, Brian feels good.  
  
In fact the whole evening has felt good. Being with Michael again, they way they used to when they were kids. The way they had before Draco had come into the picture. Lazy, feckless boys with nothing to worry about but trying to decide which movie Tom Cruise was hotter in, Cocktail or A Few Good Men. They had lived the evening in a haze of nostalgia. Comforting and simple. But the problem with nostalgia is that it is fleeting. The moment passes and the present is upon you once more.    
  
"Can you even remember the last time we did this?"  
  
Brian's eyes flutter open, not realizing he had even shut them under Michael's attentive petting. "No. My birthday maybe?"  
  
Michael grins. "God, I got so stoned that night."  
  
"Light weight." Brian teases. "Either way, it has been way too long." He sits, riffling through one of the Cheeto's bags, but realizing it's contents are currently occuping the lump in his stomach, Brian lays back down with a stuffed groan. Putting his head on Michael's shoulder this time and throwing an arm across his chest. "But here we are…the Brian and Mikey show once more."    
  
He gives Michael as soft, lazy smile which Michael graciously returns.  
  
"So what is this? Our come back episode?"  
  
"Yep. The same show you've always loved now at a new time!" Brian falls into laughter and Michael snickers at Brian's half-hearted attempt at a TV announcer's voice. After the laughter dissipates, they settle back into a contemplative silence.    
  
Michael starts trailing his fingers across Brian's back and his eyes drop closed again. "It's ok you know." He says, his voice cracking slightly. "To miss him. To miss Draco."    
  
Brian lifts his head to look at him disparagingly, saying "I know who you're talking about, thank you," before nestling back against Michael's chest, picking at some pills on the front of Michael's sweater.    
  
"You're human, Brian. I know you don't always want people to realize this about you, but I know you are. I know you. And this is what happens to people when you're with someone for so long." Michael continues in supportive tones. "It's ok to hurt."    
  
"I don't."   
  
"Bull shit. I've never seen you so broken up about anything in your life."    
  
Brian sits hastily, gathering together the empty pizza boxes. This is the one topic he refuses to discuss. Not tonight. Not ever. He pushes himself up off the floor telling Michael just that.    
  
"Why?" Michael asks, sitting to watch Brian walk into the kitchen.  
  
"Because."    
  
"Because why? Because it's sill too hard to talk about it?"  
  
Brian closes his eyes, clenching his jaw and resting his palms flat against the counter. "Damn it, Michael," he croaks.    
  
When he opens his eyes, Michael is next to him, grabbing him by the arm and spinning him around. "I'm right aren't I?" Brian bites his lip, avoiding Michael's eye. "Brian, listen to me. Are you listening?"  
  
"Don't steal my line."    
  
"Oh good you are listening." Michael leans against the counter top, catching Brian's eye. "You are so pathetic."  
  
"That's the second one you've stolen in as many sentences. You really need to come up with your own material."  
  
"Will you fucking be serious for one second? I'm trying to help you!"    
  
"There is nothing to help!" Brian flares, dropping his hands against the side of thighs. "It's over, Michael. Finished. Do you understand that? He's better off and I'm… here. Alright? I thought you of all people would be happy about that."  
  
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"  
  
"Never mind." He mutters.  
  
"If you mean I'm happy that you didn't move to New York? Of course I am. But if you're insinuating that I'm happy that you broke up with Draco then you are dead wrong. You're fucking miserable without him." Brian opens his mouth to disagree, but Michael keeps going, cutting him off. "You miss him. And you hate yourself for not going to New York. Admit it."  
  
He holds his friends gaze. The look as good as an answer.  
  
"There's nothing I can do about it now." Brian says, full of resignation.  
  
"Of course there is!"  
  
"What? Show up on his door step and tell him that I made a mistake? That I wish I could change my mind? That I love him and want him to take me back?!"  
  
The frantic words seem to echo, ringing clear in the large room. It does not sound as strange out loud as Brian had feared they might. No lightning bolt comes from the sky to strike him where he stands. And he doesn't feel his cock and balls suddenly curl up inside his body, completing his transformation to lesbian.  
  
Instead Brian watches as Michael's expression moves from shocked to amazed in slow increments before it finally settles on a dumbstruck smile. "That…would probably be a good place to start."    
  
He walks to the couch, wrapping his scarf around his neck and grabbing his coat. "Well come on then. Get your keys."  
  
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Brian says, exasperated.  
  
"We're going to New York."  
  
"No, we aren't. It's already 8 o'clock and incase you haven't noticed there is a shit load of snow on the ground."  
  
"No excuses, Brian. No regrets."   
  
"That's three now, Mikey." Brian admonishes, holding up the correct number of fingers with one hand and rubbing his forehead with the other.   
  
"You can fix this." Michael says urgently, grasping onto Brian's arm, his normally chocolate brown eyes glowing with something more firey. "The Brian Kinney I know, the Brian Kinney I love, takes what he wants from the world. Gets what he wants. You still want him, I know you do. Let's go get him."    
  
Brian rolls his lips against his teeth, feeling the gentle pinch of pain as his teeth compress the flesh together. Remarking how miniscule that pain feels as compared to what he feels inside. What he has felt since Draco left. But it isn't that simple, is it? Would Draco even agree to see him? Could it really be as simple as Michael makes it sound?   _Only one way to find out...  
_  
But before Brian can voice his begrudging but determined answer, a flash of green light and a soft whooshing sound pulls his attention towards the fireplace. His heart stutters. Hope welling large in his chest. His mind not even giving a moment's thought to the fact that he isn't alone.    
  
His long legs carry him over to the fire place, unbidden, just in time to see not Draco, but Harry emerge. Deathly pale, his hands and shirt covered with a sickening amount of blood. 


	11. Chapter 11

Brian is oddly calm in the face of Michael's ensuing conniption fit - his hyperventilating, shrieking, cursing, pointing, gaping, flabbergasted "Who the fuck is that?" and "How the fuck did that just happen?" conniption fit. He grabs Michael by the elbows, grasping him so roughly that his knuckles turn white.  
  
"Michael, Michael." He says into his flushed friends face. "Calm down. I can explain. Just not now."  
  
There is more screeching. More flailing, trembling limbs. More wide, disbeliving eyes.  
  
"Mikey. Shut up, please, shut up. I promise I will explain, just let me talk - "  
  
Michael's face goes slack and he collapses, boneless, against Brian's chest. With his arms still holding up his best friend, Brian looks over his shoulder to see Harry's arm out stretched parallel to the floor in front of him, his wand pointing at Michael with exacting precision.  
  
"Sorry." He says, letting his wand drop back into his palm. "I just couldn't… deal with that right now."  
  
"Neither could I." Brian agrees, lowering Michael gently to the floor. "What did you do to him?"  
  
"Stunned him. He'll wake up in about twenty minutes."  
  
Brian walks back over towards Harry, assessing that the blood drying to a ghastly, brickish maroon is not his. It is someone else's. And he swallows back the panic that reasserts itself in his chest as he hopes to God the blood doesn't belong to who he thinks it does. _But then why else would he be here?  
_  
"What's happened?" He asks.   
  
Harry closes his eyes, passing a stained palm across his face and remembers.  
 _  
They hadn't even made it to the bed.  
  
Draco had shown up on his door step, smelling of nighttime and snowflakes. All things that are bright and crisp and calm. He's cheeks were flushed, as if he had walked all the way here instead of apparating to Harry's door step as soon as he had come within the safe zone of the magical district. Sometimes Harry forgets how long Draco was away from magic and how strange that must have been for a pureblood wizard like him.  
  
There had been a darkness in Draco's eyes, a withdrawing in upon himself. It was a similar look to the one that had haunted his eyes the first night Draco had come here. The first night they were together.  
  
Harry is very certain that Draco was the one to make the move. A first. As they sat on the couch, drinking beer straight from the bottle there had been a brush of his thumb across Harry's knee. A soft-eyed smile and a lingering look. And that had been enough.   
  
Call it weakness. Call it hope. Call it getting it however you can get it. Call it whatever the hell you want, but Harry falls into the moment completely. Opening the buttons of Draco's shirt. Kissing his chest reverently. Pressing him back against the cushions. Sliding onto the floor and pulling Draco's pants off over his hips. He presses that tender flesh on the inside of his thighs to make a space for him in between Draco's knees so he can angle his smooth length into his mouth. Harry takes his cock. He takes his taste. Takes his smell. His moans. He takes everything Draco gives him.  
  
And Draco gives him so much. Spreading his legs as wide as they will go on the couch. Sighing with a lung emptying breath as Harry enters him. Throwing his head back, tossing his mop of brilliant hair at the first thrust. Arching his back, just so, as he comes. Holding Harry afterward, those long arms pulling him close against his chest.   
  
It feels different from all the times before. It feels open and expansive. Expanding. Like the beginning of something instead of a fluke. And Harry's heart begins to hammer in his chest.  
  
He sits, pulling on his pants, leaving the belt and fly undone.   
  
"Harry," Draco questions, his voice deep and rich. The sound causes a shiver to run down Harry spine. He wonders how the sound of his first name can sound so much more remarkable, so much more important, when Draco uses it then when the Minister of Magic himself says the name. Draco's nimble fingers stroke the skin at Harry's waist and Harry face falls into his hands.   
  
"You can't ever be what I want." Harry states.  
  
Draco's hand freezes mid stroke, then restarts again with an even gentler touch. "I know." His voice is equally gentle. "I'm sorry, Harry. I'm trying. Really I am. Just…give me more time to get over him."  
  
Harry turns, the space between his eyebrows pinching up in brief confusion. "No, Draco, that's not what I mean." He props his hand on the back of the couch, hovering over Draco's still supine form. "Even if you were to get over Brian - which I don't think will ever happen because you're completely mad for him - this," he gestures between them. "We'd only end up hating each other in the end." Draco looks at him, confused. "You live in a posh world of fancy parties and elite clubs. You want glamor and drama and you deserve all that. But all I want is simplicity and security. To come home at the end of the day to a comfortable home and someone who loves me."  
  
Draco props himself up on his elbows. "I like you, Harry. I really do." And Harry does not doubt his honesty.  
  
"I know you do. But the problem is, I love you." Draco falls back, his body drooping woefully. Harry simply continues. "I always thought Ron would be my best mate, but now…well it's different with you. It's not about being kids and being able to remind each other of the carefree, innocent people we once were. It's about knowing each other as adults. As the jaded, complex people we are and that being ok too. So I do love you, in my own way." The panic melts off Draco's face and he curls his fingers around Harry's forearm.  
  
"You mean too much to me for us to keep doing this. To even flirt with the idea that things between us could become something more. Even though," He trails a finger across Draco's jaw, ghosting over those lips that only minutes before he was ravaging. "I will admit the sex is good."   
  
Draco's brow curves quizzically. "Just good?"  
  
"Well, I've never slept with anyone else to compare it to, have I? For all I know you could be complete shit."   
  
"I am not complete shit."  
  
Harry laughs, his eyes sparkling. "See, this is exactly what I don't want to lose. And if we kept sleeping with each other, we will. There will come a time when you can't give me _what _I want and you'll wake up to the fact that I'm not_ who _you want and we'd become resentful and regretful and loose all the good that has formed between us. This friendship that we've managed to forge out of…abso-bloody-lutely nothing."  
  
Draco looks down, almost demure, pursing his lips, his pale lashes falling on his still rosy cheeks. He is still so stunningly beautiful. _All the more reason he could never be mine _, Harry thinks then takes a deep breath. "Does this make any bloody sense to you?" He exhales quickly.  
  
Draco looks up at him, intent and calm. "I think those are the most logical words I have ever heard come out of your mouth, Potter."  
  
Harry laughs softly through his nose, and leans forward to kiss him, one last time. As Draco's warm lips close around Harry's plump upper lip, he lets himself be flooded with the feelings of camaraderie and platonic devotion that are so strong within his chest, letting their brilliant warmth block out any burgeoning romantic feelings that were there. Like the sun eclipsing the moon.   
  
"You want me to go?" Draco asks when the kiss breaks.   
  
"Probably be best. I'll walk you out." Even though Harry knows ending things between them is the best thing to do, he can't deny that it comes with a bit of melancholy. But by the way Draco gathers his clothes and coat with protracted slowness, he sees a bit of sadness in him part as well. _Perhaps more of his heart had been in this than I realized.  
 _  
Harry hugs his arms tight to his chest as he stands in the doorway, Draco one step down at the top of the stoop. The wind cutting through the tight knit of his wool sweater. "You sure you don't just want to apparate home?" Harry asks, thinking he should have gotten a coat.  
  
"No. A walk'll do me good." Draco shuffles his feet, tucking his chin deeper into his scarf.   
"What are you going to do about Brian?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"What do you mean nothing?"  
  
"Well, what the hell should I do?"  
  
"You should give him a call. It's not even 8 o'clock yet. Just...see how he's doing." Harry shrugs, his teeth beginning to chatter. "Maybe he'd even agree to see you tonight."  
  
"No." Draco shakes his head, looking off toward the end of the street, his eyes narrow and pensive. "There's no hope in that."  
  
"Hmm." Harry hums his disagreement, __resting his head against the door frame_ _. "There is always hope."  
  
A quick puff of air escapes Draco's lips as he laughs. His warm breath drifting white and shapeless in the bitter night air. A familiarly bemused smile on his lips. His "Bloody optimistic Gryffindor" is not spoken but very much heard.   
  
Draco turns on his heel, looking up into the clear night sky, cloudless, but starless thanks to the omnipresent city lights. He breathes deeply, his chest expanding fully. The next few steps down the stairs feel like the first steps of a new journey and he hesitates.  
  
"Draco." He turns at the sound of Harry's voice. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"  
  
"Yeah. I'll be there."  
  
_ _Harry watches him walk down the street, thinking about how much their relationship has changed in just three short months. He cares for Draco. In a deep and meaningfu_ _l way. An_ _d considering where the two of them had started, could the cosmos really expect them to make it as lovers? Isn't being best friends a big enough testament to their maturity? Their growth and change? And as the blond passes under a street lamp, his elegant figure illuminated for the length of a few paces, Harry smiles and thinks,_ Yes, this is most certainly enough _.  
  
And that is when it happens._ _  
  
Draco jumps to the side, seeing something come at him from the corner of his eye a split second before a series of unfamiliar words, snarling and malicious, echo down the street followed by a flash of gruesome green and Draco's strangled cry.  
  
Harry's wand is in his hand, his shoeless feet carrying towards Draco before he even knows what he is running towards. He knows it is not the killing curse. It had been the wrong horrible shade of green. And the words hadn't been Latin. They had been more sinister. Darker even than the darkest curse Harry knows.  
  
Draco is half-splayed on the sidewalk, his legs struggling for traction against the ground as he tries to hold himself upright on one elbow. With his other arm, he aims a trembling wand at the retreating figure down the street.  
  
"Impedimentia!' Draco howls, the tripping jinx ripping painfully from his lungs. Draco collapses back against the ground, wheezing, his wand clattering on the cement.   
  
The jinx hits its mark and the man tumbles over his own feet to all fours. But he bounces up, scrabbling to his feet and continuing his escape.   
  
"Petrificus totalis!" Harry shouts as he continues to run, headlong, down the street. The culprit falls heavy to the ground, his limbs snapped rigid against his side. Once Harry is on top of him, he uses his foot to kick him onto his back, recognizing the blank face that stares up at him too easily.   
  
"Perry, __you spineless cunt."_ _He pants, lungs burning, knowing full well Perry can hear him. He knows Perry isn't going anywhere, but for good measure he adds, "Incarcerous," and thick ropes twist around Perry's ankles and arms.  
  
Satisfied, he hurries back towards Draco. A few people have gathered on the street or in their doorways, curious about the terrible scene. Harry notices a couple across the street, holding on to each in stunned terror, obviously having witnessed the entire thing. "Please!" Harry calls as he drops to his knees next to Draco. "Call the Auror's." The man nods and apparates away, while the woman conjures her Patronus and orders it off to the hospital.  
  
"Oh god." Harry whimpers, as he finally looks down at Draco.  
  
The sight before him makes the scene in the girls bathroom during their sixth year look like casual dueling practice between friends. Not only can he see blood seeping through the pale fabric of his pants and shirt, where Draco's jacket has fallen open, but there is blood trickling from his nose and bubbling up from between his lips. His body is hemorrhaging, inside and out and Harry swallows back the bile that suddenly floods his mouth.  
  
Certainly, Draco should have passed out by now, considering how much blood he has lost. But his eyes remain open, wide and hysterical. Surely some sadistic twist in the curse so that the victim stays awake and alert as his life oozes from him. Draco's mouth gapes as he fights to fill his blood choked lungs, his fingers clutching desperately at the collar of Harry's shirt.   
  
"You're alright, sweetheart. The mediwizards are coming. You're alright. You hear me? They'll be there any minute. You're ok." Harry cradles Draco into his arms, rocking his trembling form. Unable to even imagine how much pain he must be in. Tears fill his eyes as Draco stares up him. Those eyes, stormy and afraid and so bloody aware of exactly what is happening to him.  
  
A nightmarish rattle shakes Draco's body as he draws yet another painful breath. Then mustering every last bit of strength he has, his white lips form two words, "Tell Brian…"_  
  
"There's been an attack." Harry says, bringing his mind back to Pittsburgh. He feels a tear drip down his cheek, hanging off the edge of his jaw before he wipes it away.   
  
"An attack?"  
  
Harry nods once. "Perry. Draco wanted me to tell you…" He pauses, a thought coming to him. "Well, I'm not sure what exactly he wanted me to tell you. But 'Tell Brian' was the only thing he said so…here I am."   
  
Brian turns towards the window, locking his hands into the back pocket of his jeans.  
  
Harry hadn't thought about how Brian would react. There simply hadn't been time. After the medical crew arrived but before the Aurors had even showed up, Harry had raced back up to his apartment, only stopping to put on shoes and grab a coat. Not even taking the time to put that on. He hadn't known Brian's address, so had simply shouted "Brian Kinney, Pittsburgh" into the floo. Clearly that had been enough.  
  
But if someone had asked him how this stylish, levelheaded man would have reacted to news like this, Harry would have guessed it would be exactly as he is: with icy composure covering up his tumultuous emotion. It is just like Draco would.   
  
Brian looks over his shoulder, sniffing sharply, blinking back the glassiness in eyes. "Would you…could you take me to him? Can you do that?"  
  
"Of course." Harry says, "But we shouldn't leave him here." He indicates where Michael is still unconscious on the floor. "We should take him with us. They can treat him at the hospital too. He'll have a nasty headache when he wakes up."  
  
"Yeah, I know." Brian says, offhandedly, remembering his own introduction to magic.  
  
"Come on." Harry walks over to Michael, lifting his dead weight up from under his armpits. "I can apparate us right to the hospital."  
  
"All three of us?" Brian asks, sounding genuinely impressed that Harry's magic would be able to safely carry not only Brian, but Michael as well. "You can do that?"   
  
And even in this horrible moment, Harry isn't about to let this moment pass. So he catches Brian's eye and says with as much bluster he can manage, "I told you size isn't everything."

 

*

Their entrance to the Aesculapius Hospital Emergency Room is quite the dramatic one.  A foreign hero suddenly appearing in the middle of a near empty waiting room, bearing the weight of two larger men: one unconscious and one vomiting the instant his feet touch ground.   
  
"I should have warned you to close your eyes."  Harry says apologetically to Brian as he lowers Michael into a waiting area chair.  Another round of vomiting wracks Brian's body, doubling him over at the waist as a sheen of sweat dampens his skin.  Harry winces.  "It happens to most people the first time they apparate."  
  
"It's not my first time."  Brian chokes out, wiping at his watery eyes.  "Just my first time so far."  Brian allows himself to be pressed back into the chair next to Michael by Harry's steady hand.  He lifts Brian's chin, scanning his eyes quickly as if to check for any further after affects of the apparition.  Apparently satisfied by what he has found he pats Brian's leg and stands, drawing out his wand and cleaning up the mess all in one streamlined movement.   
  
"Deep breaths.  I'll find out where he is."   
  
Brian can only nod, feeling weak and useless in the face of Harry's continued poise.   
  
As Harry wanders over to the nurse's station, Brian takes one of those recommended deep breaths and leans his head back in the chair, looking at the scene around him.  If he didn't know otherwise, there would be little to hint that this was a magical hospital and not just a standard American hospital.  It is white and bright, some soft instrumental music playing in the background, though they are tunes Brian does not recognize.  The waiting room is decorated with fake plastic plants and a few tattered, old magazines are scattered across the coffee table.     
  
But then a man, presumably a doctor - or whatever they call them - walks by, dressed in long, pale green robes instead the standard white lab coat.  His eyes study the chart in his hand but his wand trails steadily behind him, dragging the patient, head bandaged and arm wrapped in a cast, along with him.  This would be a typical hospital sight, except for the fact that this patient floats in midair instead of resting on a gurney.    
  
  
There are no surgeons here. No cardiologists or trauma specialists. There are no MRI's or EKG's or CAT scans.  There isn't even a stethoscope or a blood pressure cuff.  All there is is magic.  And Brian's stomach churns once more as he realizes that Draco is somewhere in this hospital being treated by magic's simplistic means.  For a moment he wishes that Harry had taken him somewhere else.  A real hospital, with real doctors like Columbia Medical Center or Cedar Sinai.  Someplace where a whole team of doctors and nurses could be tending to Draco's injuries.  But then he realizes, that whatever evil spell Perry used to spill so much of Draco's blood - the blood that he sees every time he looks in Harry's direction - it needs to be treated here.  Magic with magic.  Brian has to trust that the magic that he cannot feel, but knows is all around him, will be the thing to heal him. To cure him.  To save him.  Magic has to be enough.  Because even considering the possibility that it isn't is simply too petrifying.  
  
"What do you mean he can't come with me?"  Harry's agitated voice carrying from across the room interrupts Brian's thoughts.  He pulls himself to his feet, walking tenderly over to the admittance desk, his stomach still lurching.   
  
  "Is there a problem?"  Brian asks, drooping against the counter.    
  
"They won't let you in because you're a muggle."  Harry says flatly, giving Brian a look that tells him just what he thinks of their rule.   
  
"It is hospital policy."  The woman behind the counter, dressed in tight, pink robes which make her look like an overstuffed toddler, speaks to them in the tone of one who knows a book full of rules back up their cruelty.  As if the mere existence of the rule makes it right.  She looks at Brian then adds in a reproachful whisper,  "Really you shouldn't be inside the District at all."    
  
"This man is Draco Malfoy's partner."  Harry counters.  "He has every right to be here."  
  
"I'm...not - " Brian starts to disagree, but Harry shoots him a look so cutting that the words freeze in his mouth.   
  
"What about his friend?  He's been stunned.  Can't you at least give him a bed to wake up in?"   
  
"I'm sorry sir, but the rules clearly state..."   
  
"I could give fuck all about your rules!  Your rules are shit!"  Harry shouts, then leaning over the counter menacingly, whispers harshly, "Do you have any idea who I am?"     
  
"Harry…don't."  Brian cautions, placing a hand on the younger man's arm.  As much as he hates to admit it, Brian needs Harry. He is a blind man in the dark without him and needs him to stay in control of his emotions.  As close to the surface as they may be.  "I'll stay here with Michael.  Go find him.  Just tell me know…when you know something."  
  
"Wait...did you just call him Harry?"  The woman breathes, eyes opening up in wonder as she looks up.  "So it is you then...I thought maybe with the accent...but I wasn't sure."    
  
"Well, be sure." Harry says snidely, drumming his  fingers on the counter top.   "But it doesn't matter, does it?  Your _rules_ clearly say..."   
  
"Our _rules_..."  She cuts him off, sternly.  "Can be bent."   
  
The healer takes them into the "on-call" room, a small, windowless room with several bunk beds.  It isn't much, but it gives them the privacy they wanted without actually breaking any  rules by formally admitting Michael into the hosptial.  She conjures two plush chairs for him and Harry to wait in, in addition to a weak cup of tea to settle Brian's stomach and some damp wash cloths for Harry.  With hands clasped in front of her, she tells them that Draco has been taken to the Fifteenth floor for treatment.  And that they won't be allowed up there until the mediwizards have moved him elsewhere.  
  
"What's on the fifteenth floor?"  Brian asks her.   
  
"Dark and Unknown Magic Intensive Care." She answers, looking at both of them with a pitying gaze, before closing the door with a soft snick.   
  
"That's bad isn't it?"  Brian asks.  
  
"It isn't good."  Harry replies.   
  
Brian takes a hesitant sip of his tea, still not certain on how his stomach will react.  Harry towels off his hands. Then, almost as if having forgotten he could, uses a spell to clean the remaining blood from his shirt.  The healer comes back into the room, bringing some pain potion and a calming draft to give to Michael when he wakes up.  "He'll get quite sleepy once he takes these, but considering...well, it's probably for the best."  She smiles sweetly, looking nothing like the uppity guard dog she had been when they first arrived.   
  
"Does that happen to you a lot?"  Brian asks once they are alone again.   
  
"Does what happen a lot?"   
  
"People being willing to travel around their ass to get to their elbow once they know who you are."  
  
Harry crosses his arms.  "Less here than at home."   
  
"Perk of the job, I suppose."   
  
Harry snorts dismissively.  "I hate playing the 'boy-who-lived' card more than anyone, but,"  Harry pauses, picking at his nails.  "Sometimes it's the only card that works."   
  
"Well...thank you."   Brian clears his throat awkwardly.  "For playing it for my sake."  
  
Something about the look in Harry's eye tells him he didn't do it for Brian, but he nods regardless, pressing his lips into something that could be interpreted as a smile if it didn't look quite so painful.  "You're welcome."   
  
They fall into silence.  The contents of the other's mind completely unknown, and yet of near identical veins.  Questions of why and how.  Mental curses directed at Perry and silent prayers offered up to a God neither truly believe in simply because it is the only thing left for them to do.  They are united in their worry for Draco.    
  
And in that pensive silence, Brian forgets to hate Harry.  He forgets how much this man played into his insecurities about his relationship with Draco.  That Harry was ultimately the reason he pushed Draco away.  Forgets that Harry is now the one who shares Draco's bed.  Who own's Draco's body.  He finds himself not able to care about those things in the face of such trauma.    
  
Instead finds himself feeling an odd sense of gratitude to the other man.  Grateful that he came to tell Brian about the attack, as Draco had wished.  Grateful that Harry had agreed to bring him to New York.  Grateful that he is not being forced to wait through this awful unknowing in this unfamiliar world all by himself.   
  
A long groan escapes from Michael's bed as he begins to stir.   
  
"Mikey?"  Brian jumps up, grabbing Michael's hand.   
  
"You gonna tell him?"  Harry asks darkly, getting up out of his chair and moving out of the way.  Brian gives Harry a long look, not having thought that far ahead.  Right now all that matters is that Michael is waking up and is clearly in pain.    
  
"Michael?  Mikey, it's me.  Are you alright?"    
  
"My fucking head."  He mumbles, lifting his free hand to his temple.  His eyes blink slowly, fighting against bright light of the room.  "What happened?"  
  
"We're in New York.  At a hospital."  
  
"Doesn't look like a hospital."   
  
"I know, I know." Brian mumbles.  He lifts the pain potion off the little side table where the nurse had left it and examining the contents, offers it to Michael.  "Drink this."   
  
"What is it?"  
  
"It's for your head.  It works."  Brian says, speaking with first hand experience. Michael takes the small glass and swallows down his contents.   His trust in Brian knowing no bounds.  
  
"Woah..."  He breathes as he falls back against the bed, a euphoric look on his face.  Brian looks to where Harry is pacing behind him.    
  
"This didn't happen when I took it."  He snaps, as if the power of the potion is somehow Harry's fault.   
  
"Medical grade."  Harry answers, with a small shrug of the head.  "It's good shit."   
  
"So... did we get in an accident?  Is that why we're here?"  MIchael asks, propping himself up on two elbows.  "I don't remember any accident...I don't even remember leaving your apartment.  The last thing I remember was talking about coming to New York to get Draco and then...." He stops himself, the dreamy smile melting off his face.  He  looks at Brian.   
  
"Then what, Mikey?  Tell me what happened next?"  Brian encourages partially to see how much Michael remembers and partially in hopes that he'll figure everything out on his own without Brian having to explain.   
  
"Some...guy..."  He hesitates, squeezing onto Brian's hand because he knows he sounds absolutely insane.  "He came out of the fire place."   
  
Harry clears his voice, stepping into Michael's line of sight.  "Yeah, hi."  He gives him a small wave.  "That would have been me that came through the fire place."   
  
Michael recognizes Harry, then starts shaking his head.  His eyes tearing up and his chin trembling.  "So I...didn't imagine that..."  
  
Brian shakes his head, lips rolled together.   
  
"Why aren't you freaking out about this too?  That guy - a fucking stranger - appeared out of no where in your apartment!  He crawled out of the fire place.  Out of flames!  I fucking saw it with my own eyes and, and...and weren't you covered in blood?!  Brian how are you so calm about this?!" Michael's voice is high and strangled.    
  
"Because I've seen it happen before."  Brian counters with his voice, calm and low.    
  
"You've...You've _what_?"  Michael pants, clearly at his wits end.   
  
"Give him the other potion." Harry says in a low voice as he passes behind Brian.  Though to Brian it sounds much more like an order than a suggestion.   
  
He holds the other potion in front of Michael's face.  "Michael, I need you to take this and then I need you to listen.  Can you do that for me?"  His best friends chest rises and falls with his too quick and shallow breaths, but he manages to nod an affirmative answer.   
  
As soon as the potion is down, Michael's shoulders relax.  He takes a long deep breath and for the first time since waking up, looks almost normal.  If not quite sleepy.   
  
"Ok."  He says softly.  "I'm listening."   
  
"The guy that came out of the fireplace, this guy here, his name is Harry.  He's Draco's...friend."  Harry stops his pacing for a moment.  "Harry and Draco are very similar."   
  
"Why, cause they're both English?"  
  
"What...well, yeah, that."  Brian stutters, slightly thrown by Michael's simplistic conclusion.  "They're also both wizards."   
  
Michael looks at him then rolls his eyes.  "You know what...Fuck you, Brian."  His words are slightly slurred. "Just because I read all those comic books about super hero's and evil villians does not mean I'm going to believe some bullshit about magic existing."  
  
"No, Michael."  Harry interjects.  "He's telling the truth.  I'm a wizard."   
  
"Like...a Dungeons and Dragons Wizard?"   
  
"No,"  Harry laughs gently. "Like a wizard, wizard."  He pulls out his wand, shooting a beautiful rainbow of glittering gold sparks out from the tip.  The sparks morph into the a bird which flies around the room before exploding into small fireworks in reds and golds and blues.  
  
Michael's breath catches as he watches Harry's spell.  Not looking at all afraid but amazed.  An almost child like sense of awe on his face.  He looks at Brian, smiling softly and says the last thing Brian ever expected of him.   
  
"I knew it."   
  
Now Brian is the one dumbfounded.  
  
"I knew something was different about Draco.  The way he was always so vague about his life and so uncomfortable talking about normal culture things like movies and pop stars. I knew it had to more than just the fact he's English." He lays down on the bed, pull of the calming draft finally overwhelming him.  "And the way he got back and forth between New York and Pittsburg so fast and so often.  I mean," He snorts.  "I know he's rich but no one is _that_ rich.  And he's not really training to be an FBI agent is he?"   
  
Brian grins, amused by how much he had underestimated his best friend.  "Nope."  
  
"You're such a bad liar."  Michael smirks, curling onto his side, closing his eyes soundly. "He had to be different.  You wouldn't have fallen for him otherwise."  
  
"I fell for the man, Mikey."  Brian says as he tucks the thin blanket up around Michael's chin.  "Not the magic."  
  
"Well, good."  Michael says, nestling deeper into the sheets.  "I'm sleepy."  He announces and Brian laughs softly.  
  
"Sleep then."  He says, kissing Michael's cheek softly and watching as his breaths even out into the even, steady rise and fall of sleep almost right away.  
  
Harry sinks back down into his chair.  Feeling as though he has just seen a completely different side of Brian Kinney as he tended to his best friend.  A side that he understands how Draco would love so completely.  A side that would be deserving of that love in return.   
  
"If you change your mind about him knowing,"  Harry says,  "There's a spell I could do that would make him forget."  
  
"No."  Brian says right away, eyes still on his friend.  "You don't know what a relief it is for him to know."   
  
Harry smiles softly, letting his muscles relax into the soft fabric of the chair.  But then knock on the door reminds them of where they are.  And the sight of a mediwizard walking into the room reminds them of why.  
  
"I was told I could find Mr. Kinney and Mr. Potter in here."   
  
"That's us."  Brian answers.    
  
The young man nods , looking haggard and tired.  He pulls up a chair and sits, dropping his elbows to his knees.   "I need to talk to you about Draco Malfoy's condition."   
  
Brian can feel his heart jump in his chest, slow, painful thuds against the back of his ribs .  And when he feels Harry's hand clasp desperately onto his forearm, just as much panic reflected in his eyes, Brian doesn't flinch.  In stead he covers Harry's hand with his own and prepares himself for the worst.

 

*

The mediziard is handsome. Young, tan. His body is strong, representing hours spent in the gym. His defined forearms come to an end at two strong yet nimble hands. The old Brian Kinney - the one from pre-Draco days - would have been coming up with any and every possible way of getting in this guys pants and up his firm, little ass. But the new Brian Kinney - the one who is nearly melting in his despair - doesn't even take notice.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy was hit by a dark curse, but then I assume you already know that." He says, looking at Harry, who nods grimly. "At the time of his arrival, Mr. Malfoy had already lost a great deal of blood. In addition to several deep wounds on his extremities and over his ribs, he also had severe internal bleeding, from injuries to his spleen and liver. His left lung had been punctured."  
  
As he continues on, his voice tempered and professional, Harry's hand clenches tighter and tighter around Brian's arm. _Is he hearing the same thing I am? Too much fucking past tense._  
  
"The spell was some variation on a slashing hex, but it isn't one we see here very often. Evidently it had a period of popularity in Bulgaria during their civil war back in the 1970's. Luckily, one of the members of my team did some pro bono work over there during the conflict and recognized the spell right away. It was his quick ability to know exactly what kind of dark magic we were working against that allowed us to save Mr. Malfoy's life."  
  
For the first time that night, oxygen fills Brian's lungs completely. A satisfying, relieving breath. Harry, on the other hand, exhales. Every worry and concern spilling out in one massive sigh.  
  
"Now, he's not out of the woods just yet." The mediwizard says, cutting short their relief. "We were, unfortunately, forced to perform a large amount of invasive magic."  
  
"What's that?" Brian asks.  
  
"It's like surgery." Harry answers.  
  
The mediwizard smiles, as if suddenly remembering a warning he had previously been given about Brian. "Right, it is similar to your surgery in that it allows us to repair internal damage but there is no incision. It's done primarily by magical intuition, touch and feel. I know it probably sounds like voodoo to you, but in many ways we're able to be so much more precise and gentle with our spells that with your barbaric sutures and knives."   
  
"Ok." He says, not really caring about the ins and outs. The success of the magic is the only thing that matters.  
  
"He's under a stasis charm right now that will keep him unconscious until the blood replenishing potions have done their job and some of the internal swelling has been reduced. But the sooner he pulls himself out of that charms the faster it means his body is healing, which will say a lot about his future prognosis."  
  
He pauses, giving Harry and Brian a moment to absorb all the information.   
  
"He'll be in quite a bit of pain for the next few days and weeks. Not to mention the mental trauma of being attacked so brutally."  
  
"He's been through things like this before." Harry says, then blinks, looking at the mediwizard. It is as if he had not meant the words to actually be spoken out loud. "During the war. If it was not this bad, then it was damn near close."   
  
"Yes, we saw the scarring. Looked like one from a _Sectumsempra_ curse." Harry flushes as he remembers a different time Draco had bled, and how it was his own wand that had caused it.   
  
"We also saw his Dark Mark."  
  
Some thing about the way the doctor says it makes Brian bristle.   
  
"Why the fuck is that important?" He snaps. "Hasn't Draco suffered enough for his past choices?"  
  
"Mr. Kinney, please don't misjudge my meaning. I make no assumptions about Mr. Malfoy and his past. And the presence of the Dark Mark had absolutely no affect on the care we provided him. I only mention it to the two of you because you both clearly care for him very much. But if this truly is not the first time he has been assaulted and if he spent the duration of the Second English War fighting and witnessing all the horrors of Voldemort, I think it would be wise for him to seek some counseling once he is healed. I'd recommend the same for you, Mr. Potter, if you haven't already. One of my healers tells me your temper is rather quick to flare."  
  
"My temper has always been quick to flare. War had nothing to do with it." He concedes with a wry grin, but then sobering quickly adds, "But I have been seeing someone. I'll be sure to talk to Draco about it."  
  
"Good." The mediziard says, standing. "I can take you up to see him, if you'd like." Then looking over the tops of their heads adds, "Your friend should be fine in here."  
  
They ride the elevator in silence. A different kind of nervous tension building in the pit of Brian's stomach. He hates hospitals. Has never been around the sick or meek. Has purposely avoided any and everything that reminds him of human frailty. Of the finality of life. Even when Vic was sick, he had hovered around his ailing friend with reticent concern. He is Brian Kinney. He'll always be young. He'll always be beautiful. He will not be touched by time or pain or death. At least so he tells himself. How will he react when he sees Draco so brutally damaged? How will it feel to see vibrant, beautiful Draco teeter so precariously on the brink?  
  
"Go on." The mediwizard encourages when he notices Brian stalled in the door way. He looks back towards the elevator, rubs at the back of his neck and finally steps into the room.   
  
The room is dim. The shades drawn against the light polluted sky. The only illumination coming from three glowing lines that hover above the head bored. The red one moves with the traditional, rapid spikes of a heart monitor. Brian watches it as for several seconds, anticipating every steady beat. The one below moves more slowly, in soft peaks and valleys of green. It takes him a moment before he realizes those peaks and valleys match the rise and fall of Draco's chest. The third, a rich royal blue, is much slower, undulating and meandering. He has no idea what it reflects, but something about its steady pace is reassuring.  
  
Draco lies, pale and still. His body, arms and legs stick-straight, bisecting the exact middle of the narrow bed. Usually, Draco sprawls when he sleeps, lavish and languid, taking up far more bed that one would think him able. So this careful placement of his limbs looks unnatural and fake.  
  
His lips are nearly as white as his skin, instead of their normal beautiful rose. His skin itself lacks its normal, healthy glow, but then what could Brian really have expected? Even so, Draco still resembles too much the man Brian has missed. Those elegantly high cheek bones. That narrow nose sweeping up gently. That arched brow so smooth and calm. Brian remembers every inch of that pristine face. Every corner of that perfect body. The six weeks, which had felt interminable while living them, feel little more that a slip of time now that he is back beside him.   
  
Draco is still the most stunning man Brian has every seen. Still the most beautiful.  
  
Harry walks in, leaning over the bed. He brushes a bit of Draco's blond hair back away from his forehead and presses his lips in the space of skin he just exposed. His lips move, whispering something Brian can only assume is intimate and tender. Then he falls back into one of the chairs by the bed, making no attempts at hiding the tears that well in his eyes.   
  
Brian suddenly feels very out of place in his grief. Selfish. Like he has no right to these intense feelings towards Draco when Harry is the one with so much to lose. Brian, after all, lost Draco weeks ago.   
  
"He looks better than I thought he would." Harry says.  
  
"He's thin."   
  
"Well, you can't blame the attack for that." Harry fusses with a corner of the blanket that has come untucked, securing it tightly under the mattress. "He hasn't exactly been exactly happy. A little weight loss is normal for someone in his position."  
  
"What do you mean?" Brian asks, genuinely confused.   
  
"What do you mean, what do I mean?" Harry asks, sitting back.  
  
"Why has he been sad?"  
  
Harry looks at Brian as if he had just asked the question in Cantonese. Then, almost offended he even has to answer the question turns his palms up, helplessly and says, "He's missed you."  
  
Brian hears the words, but they do not fit into his world order. He had ended his relationship with Draco mostly for his own pathetic insecurities, but also because he truly believed Draco would feel no pain at its ending. Draco had New York. He had school. He had magic. And most importantly he had Harry. Harry who he clearly wanted and who so clearly wanted him. Who was a logical and easy choice of boyfriend. Harry who would be there to pick up the pieces, fill that void and let him forget.   
  
"We broke up."  
  
"You think that changes a damn thing about how he feels about you? You're the only one he's ever wanted."  
  
Brian presses his palm to his forehead, his fingers feeling cold against his suddenly flushed skin. "But aren't you two?"  
  
"No. We're not. I mean, we did. After you two broke up. The sex was good. Great even, but," A smile forms on his face that crinkles the corner of his eyes, leaving him looking sly, almost crafty. "You didn't honestly think that Draco would be happy with a plain, old sod like me, did you?"   
  
Brian thinks there is nothing really plain or old about Harry, but lets that go. Self-deprecation seeming to be a common practice amongst the English.   
  
"I thought that was what you both wanted.  That you already were..."  
  
Harry laughs softly through his nose. "No, Draco is far too elegant for me and I am far too pedestrian for him.  He needs his partner to be high class and posh. Someone who can flourish in that expensive world he's used to. His partner needs to challenge him. To match his ego with ego of their own. In other words, Draco needs you."  
  
Brian drops to the chair that is thankfully near by, eyes beginning to burn.   
  
"He was going to call you tonight, you know." Harry leans on his elbows, seeming to enjoy the way he is rocking Brian's world. "That's why he was walking home to his place instead of just using the floo. He wanted to clear his head in the night air before calling you. He wants you back, Brian. He always will."  
  
Brian turns towards the bed, gingerly lifting one of Draco's hands into his. His long fingers are cold and Brian folds them between his warmer palms, bringing the entire package tenderly to his lips. With both his elbows resting on the side of the mattress, even this heathen can recognize how much his current position resembles one of prayer. After all, he had seen it enough times. All those Sunday mornings he was forced to go to church with his mother. Made to watch Saint Joan supplicate to her God that supposedly forgave her for all her transgressions, even though Brian never would. But in that moment, he can suddenly understand her need for absolution.  
  
"What a fucking night." He whispers, dropping his chin to his chest, so Harry cannot see the single tear that slips from his eye.   
  
"Tell me about it." Harry stretches in his chair, bones cracking as he does. He is positively spent. The younger man stands, trailing his fingers down Draco's bare arm as he walks to the foot of the bed. "Look, I'm gonna go check on Michael. Leave you two alone."  
  
Harry is half way out the door when Brian's voice catches his attention. It is not so much the sound of his name, but the heartbreaking tone with which it is said.  
  
"I feel like I keep saying this to you tonight and it isn't something I say very often, but..."  
  
"Don't." Harry cuts him off with a wave of his hand. "Treat him well. Be honest with yourself and him. That's all the thanks I'll ever need."  
  
Brian nods, returning Harry's weak smile, feeling exhausted and raw and so fucking alive.

*

Brian wakes with a jolt sometime later.  He winces, his hand hurrying to rub out the crick in his neck.  His body clearly not approving of his sleeping in the chair beside Draco's bed, his head resting on the mattress.         
  
"You alright?"  The healer asks gently before Brian's muddled mind even fully notices her.  He looks around the room, blinking the sleep away from his eyes.  The thick, cotton curtain only fully lifting when he looks down to where Draco's hand is still loosely entwined with his.  
  
"What time is it?"  He mouths clumsily.  
  
"One-ish."  The healer says, smiling warmly.  "He's waking up."  
  
She points towards the headboard and the three glowing lines above it.  The top two are much the same as when Brian had first seen them.  But the bottom line has changed.  Instead of moving along its previous, sinuous course, it quivers.  Jumping like a stream flowing over a bed of rocks, vigorous and lively.  
  
"That's his magic starting to wake up around him."  She explains, lifting a tray full of empty vials that she must have administered while Brian was asleep.  "It's a good sign."   
  
The healer exits, humming softly, and for the first time tonight the fuel that propels Brian's heart in his chest is anticipation and not fear.  
  
He gingerly places Draco's hand back on the bed near his hip.  He is not prepared to make any assumptions about what will happen once Draco is awake.  Whether Harry's statements are to be trusted.  He watches the blond's face, certainly looking less pale and drawn than it had been earlier, and tries to read it for any changes.  To Brian's untrained eyes, however, he still appears very much unconscious.     
  
Then it happens.  Just a small noise at the back of Draco's throat.  A soft whimper, almost like the sounds Gus makes when he is sleeping.  But then it happens again, slightly louder and more defined.        
  
His brow pinches.  "Harry?"  He rasps.    
  
Brian isn't sure what word he hoped would first come from Draco's lips, but it certainly wasn't that.    
  
"No, Draco."  He stops when his voice cracks over the name.  He edges forward in his chair.  "It's me…it's Brian."  
  
Draco turns his face towards the sound, slowly opening his eyes.  
  
"Brian."  He breathes, a smile blossoming on his face.  But the smile is fleeting; quickly morphed into a grimace as Draco wakes up fully to his pain.  
  
"Shit."  Brian stands, torn between rushing off for the doctors or reaching out to help him himself.  "It's bad isn't it?"  
  
Draco opens his eyes, mustering a familiar expression and says,  "What the hell do you think?"  
  
Draco tries to push himself higher up on the bed to dislodge where a hard lump of  pillow is digging into his lower back.  But even such a simple movement sends screams of pain through his nerves.  It moves faster than a stinging curse.  Deeper than the  _Cruciatus_. He cries out, collapsing back on the bed in even more pain than before.  
  
"Hey…lay still.  Let me."  Brian leans over the bed, adjusting and plumping the pillows.  He works with surprising gentleness, seeming to know just which ones need to be removed.  As Brian reaches over him, Draco catches a glimpse of Brian's collar bone, the curved line of his neck, a waft of his cologne.  Those things soothe his pain far better than any potion could.       
  
Brian looks down, sensing Draco's gentle stare.  Their eyes meet, connect and hold.  And in that shared gaze, relief along with gratitude and a flash of that inexplicable intensity which has always lived between them flickers back and forth.     
  
"Better?"  Brian asks, mouth dry.    
  
"Better."  Draco replies, giving him a small nod.  
  
Brian has perhaps never wanted to kiss Draco so desperately in his life, knowing by the unguarded look in Draco's eyes that he would let him.    
  
But he stills himself, straightening up tall to put a less tempting distance between them.  Now is not the time for him to act upon his own selfish desire to claim Draco as his own.  There will be time for those things later.   
  
"I should get the doctor."  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
"You're in fucking agony."  
  
"I'm fine.  Really…. just as long as I don't move."  
  
Brian cocks his head, giving Draco a cross look.  It is a look that will come in quite handy when Gus turns seventeen.    
  
"No, no mediwizards.  Not yet.  Please."  Draco says meekly.  Brian sighs and drops his hip to the edge of the mattress.  "I just can't quite believe you're here."     
  
"In the flesh."  He answers with a crooked smile.    
  
"You have no idea how happy that makes me.  When I told Harry to tell you… I wasn't sure you'd come."  
  
Brian tries to ignore the crushing pressure in his chest at the implication that Draco trusted Harry implicitly to follow through, but wasn't so confident in Brian's dependability.  Clearly he had done such a good job fooling himself into thinking he was better off without Draco that even Draco had believed the charade.  
  
"So you remember that?"  Brian asks, taking a different route of conversation.  "Asking Harry?"     
  
"I remember everything.  I was conscious until the mediwizards showed up and sedated me."  His face goes blank, as he relives the moment.  "It was Perry."    
                 
"I know."  
  
"He came at me from the side.  I barely even saw him before…"  His distant eyes suddenly well with tears and, without a second thought, Brian takes his hand.  Draco blinks and a pair of tears race down his cheeks.  He curls his fingers tight around Brian's.   
  
"That curse,"  He whispers.  "I'd never heard it before but it hurt...  _so_  much.  It felt like my skin had been ripped off and my body was trying to turn itself inside out…and I knew.  I knew the whole time that I was dying."  
  
"Don't.  Say that."  Brian chokes, pressing his eyes closed at the thought.  
  
"It's true though.  If Harry hadn't been there...who knows what would have happened."  
  
Brian takes a moment to feel Draco's fingers between his.  Warm and alive.  Why is it that Harry is always the one to protect and defend Draco?  Why is it that Brian is always negligently absent?  The answer is painfully simple.    
  
Because Harry is a hero.  And I am a coward.    
  
"I should have been there."  Brian murmurs.   
  
"There was nothing you could have done."  Draco soothes, his voice still gravelly.  "You've seen how demented Perry is.  He was determined for it to happen so, it did."  
  
"But maybe not tonight.  Maybe not so dark."    
  
Draco laughs breathlessly.  "And what exactly would you have been able to do against his Dark Magic?"  
  
"Not much."  Brian concedes with a soft snort.  "But then you wouldn't have been leaving Harry's, alone, needing a walk to clear your head before calling me after not talking for six fucking weeks.  And I wouldn't have been back in Pittsburgh pretending every thing was fucking fabulous when everything was  _far_  from fucking fabulous..."   
  
Brian trails off and is silent for a moment.      
  
"So you talked to Harry then?"  Draco asks.  
  
Brian nods, pressing Draco's hand from one palm to the other, watching intently as he does.  "He told me what happened between you."  
  
"And did he tell you that he thinks we would be a complete disaster as a couple and that I'm inclined to agree?"  
  
"Pretty much."  
  
"Then will you believe me when I say, for the billionth time, that he and I are not, were not, and shall not ever be a couple?"  
  
"You fucked him."   
  
Draco does not flinch in the face of Brian's bluntness and says immediately, "Only because you had me convinced that it was the logical thing to do.   Besides, you of all people should know that fucking and feelings very often have nothing to do with each other."    
  
Brian remains painfully earnest, his shoulders rounded and burdened.  "He cares about you.  A lot.  Part of me still thinks you'd be better off with him."  
  
"Is that why you did it then?"  Draco studies Brian's bowed head, his voice tenuous.  "Because you thought I'd be better off?"    
  
"Not exactly…"   
  
"Then why, Brian? Why do that to us?  To yourself?"               
  
"I freaked out, alright?"  He says, head snapping up.  "Just like you said.  Everything was changing so fucking fast.  New city, new job, new life.  And the only thing that was staying constant in that whole mess…was you."  Draco squeezes Brian's hand tightly willing him to go on.  "So I thought it would be easier to go back.  You'd go back to magic and to Harry.  And I'd go back to my life.  My normal, fucking,  _mediocre_  life."    
  
He tosses out the familiar word but only because it is true.    
  
"I honestly thought it would be easier.  Because I'd realized…that living in New York, being founding partner of my own firm - all those things I have strived for my entire life - wouldn't matter one fucking bit if I lost you.  And I thought..."    
  
"You thought you already had."  
  
Brian nods, rolling his lips tightly together.  Draco feels tears in his eyes again.  And curses his mother and her penchant for sensibility that he inherited from her.    
  
"Well.. I can't really fault you for that can I?"  He smiles softly.  "I mean, we're all looking for the easiest life to live, right?"  
  
"Right.  And that's why I'm here.  Why I should _be here_."  His jaw clenches, his cheeks flush, his honey-brown eyes glow in the low light.  "Because being with you… _Loving_  you…it's the easiest thing I've ever done."     
  
Draco's breath catches in his chest, unprepared for such candor.  He no longer feels pain, just a beautiful ache to touch Brian.  To feel his glorious skin and let their bodies fill in the tiny blanks their words have left.  And his heart needs that contact more than his body will protest the motion to achieve it.    
  
He lifts his free hand, fighting the pain and his instinct to stop.  He is able to brush the edge of Brian's hair, his hand arm beginning to tremble as he trails his fingers over Brian's temple and stubbled cheek.    
  
Brian's eyes flutter closed at the touch.  Looking so very young and vulnerable.  As if a new part of his soul has just been brought to the surface this very moment.  Which in all reality, it has.    
  
By the time Draco's fingers reach Brian's jaw, the effort is too much.  The pain and weakness are overwhelming.  But just before his arm falls, Brian's eyes flash open and he catches Draco's hand in his.  Pressing his face into his palm and his lips against his wrist.  It is just a soft, short kiss yet the sound that comes from Draco's lungs belongs amidst the throes of passion.   
  
"Brian…"  He gasps, almost afraid by the intensity he sees in Brian's intent eyes.     
  
He had not forgotten this side of Brian.  The extreme, almost feral man who had made Draco feel like a hunted animal the first night they met.  He had not forgotten the way Brian can make the most simple look soul penetrating.  But he had forgotten how instantly his body reacts to that power.  As if on some molecular level, his libido is linked to Brian's.   How Brian's heat consumes him and lures him in, binding and magnetic, from that fist kiss until now.    
  
Draco curls his fingers into the short ends of the Brian's hair and using every last bit of strength he has, tugs him forward.  Urging him closer.  Begging for his lips.        
  
The kiss is everything that it should be.  Glorious and passionate and covetous.  But it is also all those things that are delicate, tender and exquisite too.  Their lips tremble against each other.  Their tears wet the other's cheeks.  The breaths that actually manage to escape from between their sealed mouths are more akin to astonished, impatient keens.  It reflects all that is eventual between them and that which has always been.  But it also represents the new level of openness and honesty.  The new word that Brian has finally put to these old feelings.   
  
"Say it, Brian.   _Please_."  Draco gasps, lifting his chin, desperately searching for Brian's lips again.  Brian indulges him, savoring those willing lips once more.  Deep and lingering.  The first request, however is not so readily obliged.  
  
Brian sits back, the unfettered heat in his chest suddenly cooled, knowing just how much Draco deserves to hear the words.    
  
Draco lets his head fall back against his pillow.  Speaking in calm, reasonable tones.  "Tell me, Brian.   Tell me what I already know.  What you have felt for a long time now."  
  
Brian cups Draco's jaw gently, careful not to make his touch too heavy for fear of hurting his tender bones.  He sweeps his thumb across his cheek, over his and lashes.  Then he leans forward, placing his mouth against Draco's ear.  
  
Perhaps the saying will be just as easy as the doing.  
  
"I love you, Draco."  
  
The words come as easily as the breath that carries them.  
  
Brian watches as a slow smile forms on Draco's lips.  "Now, was that really so hard?"  
  
"Will you shut the fuck up and say it back."   
  
Draco laughs sharply, silver eyes glittering.  "I love you too, Brian."  
  
They fall into another kiss, smiling and laughing, with joy to spare.

*

_Epilogue_

From the archway that marks the entrance to the kitchen, Draco watches the party unfold around him. He rests his shoulder against the wall, his head tilting comfortably to the side, and lets his champagne flute dangle from between two fingers by his thigh.

It is Christmas Eve and a tree twinkles in the window. It‘s lights of white and gold are almost as spectacular as the lights of the city outside. There are candles lit all around the apartment and soft piano jazz playing over the stereo. The hum of good conversation and warmth from a roaring fire complete the scene. The party does not have the same splendor as the Christmas Balls his mother and father would throw at the Manor, but this is the first Christmas since he was 15 that Draco feels there is anything good to celebrate, so he finds it perfect nonetheless.

His mother is here, looking stunning in the ruby red cashmere turtle neck and trim black trousers Draco bought for her from Saks 5th Avenue for this very occasion. She had arrived the day after his attack, sweeping into his hospital room with panic on her face, blond strands flying from the knot at the base of her neck.

“My love.” She had murmured, pressing his lips to his brow. “What would I have done if I had lost you?“ Whether Harry had informed her or if it had just been a mother’s intuition, he does not know. But having her in New York the past three weeks has been a true blessing.

Draco had barely been able to get out of bed by himself in those first few days, unable to feed or bathe himself. He had never felt so helpless and it was a burden he didn’t dare place on Brian. So Narcissa had slipped in brilliantly. Caring for him with those same loving hands and gentle words that had tended his cuts and scrapes as a boy. It seems, that even as a man, there are times when only a mother’s touch will do.

She sits on the couch now speaking softly to Lindsay as Gus sleeps in her arms. He is swaddled in the blanket that Draco had given to Melanie the night he was born and the image of his mother with a baby in her arms looks right, some how. It is with a stab of sadness that Draco realizes this is the closest to being a grandmother she may ever be. The fact that she knows it and does not resent Draco for it makes it hurt all the more. But Lindsay, in her quiet wisdom, has realized this too. “The more people to who love my son, all the better for him,” she has said, welcoming Narcissa’s fussing and cooing with gentle smiles.

Over by the window, Emmett is talking with Jeb, their respective Southern accents becoming thicker the more animated they become. Ted and Ruby are next to them, talking about leather and all its various uses. Blaise stands by the fireplace with Debbie. Her cheeks are flushed red from wine, the fire light dancing and reflecting off her sequined top. Every once and a while, one of her raucous hoots will overwhelm the underlying murmur of the party, punctuating Blaise’s deep chuckles as he flirts harmlessly with her. Melanie is talking to Gwen and Reid, apparently making sure that  _Andretti, Dryer and Kinney_  is sufficiently represented before opening officially next month and Pansy is getting the dish on the exactly where to go for post-Christmas sales from Cynthia.

And not far off, but very much in their own world, are Harry and Michael. Their heads are tilted close, hips canted with subtle expressions of desire. Harry’s finger is hooked around one of Michael’s belt loops and Michael’s hand rests at Harry’s hip, his thumb having snuck under the hem of Harry’s shirt to find his skin.

Their relationship has been slow to develop, due mostly to the distance and their own inherent shyness, but develop it does. All starting that first night at the hospital.

"Michael." Draco had said, gulping, as Michael shuffled into the room behind Harry not long after he had woken up but after he knew he and Brian were partners once more. "What are you doing here?"

"I was at Brian's when Harry showed up."

"Needless to say my entrance required a bit of explanation. How are you feeling?" Harry had asked, making his way to the bed and kissing Draco's forehead softly.

Draco had ignored Harry’s question completely and looked wide-eyed at Brian. Stunned and a bit panicked. “You  _told_ him?”

Brian who was lounging in the chair beside Draco’s bed, had simply shrugged and said, "I figured it was time we told the kids."

If Draco hadn’t been so caught up in his own joyful reunion with Brian, he would have noticed the flush in Harry‘s cheeks, the little furtive looks and the glint in his eye even then.

That same sparkle is in his emerald eyes tonight. And they look at Michael with those soft, lingering looks of one who, if not already in love, very soon will be. It is all sickeningly Gryffindorish, but at the same time intensely beautiful.

After all. Harry finally has his boy next door and Michael, his super hero.

Michael is the only non-wizarding person at the party who knows about magic and he has embraced his top-secret information with all the gusto of a young boy who has just been invited to join a secret club. So far, all the magical folk have been on their best behavior. Not one accidental spell or mention of dragon wrangling. Of course, the night is young and there is much more alcohol left to drink. But Draco had warned them , “The first idiot who uses magic doesn’t get to leave until he or she has Oblivatedthe whole lot of them." They certainly seem to have taken it to heart.

“Hey there, angel, what are you doing hiding in here?”

Draco looks up, smiling as Debbie walks in through the opposite door, an empty wine glass in hand. She is clearly looking for a refill.

Draco pushes himself off the wall and reaches for the pinot noir bottle, her drink of choice for the evening.  He pours a perfect serving of the rich wine into her cup twisting the bottle at the end to avoid any dripping.   
  
“Not hiding. Just taking a breather,” He says. He brings the bottle up to eye level to calculate how much is left. Realizing there isn’t enough for another full serving, he simply tops off Debbie’s glass.   _Etiquette be damned._  “Being the host with the most isn’t as easy as it looks.”

His recovery has been slow going. After effects of the curse linger, even three weeks later. There is continued sensitivity to his skin. Occasional flashes of residual dark magic that burn through his body, momentarily immobilizing him with pain. There are frequent nightmares, ones where he hears Harry running down the street towards him but can never quite reach him. Or dreams where he wakes up at the hospital and Brian is not there. The latter being the worse. His first meeting with the psychologist is just after the first of the year.

He knows he must simply be patient, that in time all lingering effects will be gone, but that time cannot come soon enough.

Debbie cups his face. “It’s understandable, sweetheart. After what happened to you.” She shakes her head. “At least they caught the fucker who mugged you.”

That is what the Pittsburgh gang thinks: that he had been mugged. Beaten and robbed, but nothing worse. It had been upsetting enough for them simply thinking that. Especially for Debbie, who takes any attack on one of her boys as an attack on herself. Telling them the little white lie had been Brian’s idea. They didn’t need to know that the Auror’s had officially logged the attack as a “Hate crime as part of a terrorist organization.”

 The morning after the attack, once Draco had finally convinced Brian to go home and get some proper sleep, Chief Menlo had arrived with some other senior Aurors, one of which was wearing the flannel-grey robes of the Federal Aurors. The Chief had looked delightfully smug, which made Draco nervous.

The Chief had informed him that Perry is, in fact, not named Perry at all, but Petrenka Dimov and that he had been a member of a Bulgarian splinter group of dark wizards. They took it upon themselves to eliminate any wizard who “gave dark magic a bad name” across the world and so, after the war in England ended, they had set out to kill all former Death Eaters. The fact that they themselves used dark magic to achieve this, was not only twisted and ironic, but what made them so dangerous. Perry, or rather Petrenka, had been a junior member of a new cell working out of Hoboken, New Jersey that the Auror department had not even been aware of, so focused had they been on bringing down the cell in Brooklyn.

“Twenty minutes of questioning and he was singing a pretty song.” The chief had beamed. “We raided both locations this morning thanks to the information we got from him. We got ’em, Draco. We got all of ’em.” He had then gone on to applaud Draco for his quick action during the attack that allowed for Dimov‘s arrest.

“I hardly did anything, sir.“ Draco had said, looking down to where his hands were clasped in his lap. “I wasn’t exactly in the best shape for fighting. It was Harry, sir. He’s the one to be commended.”

The Chief had snickered. “You know, Mr. Potter said the exact same thing. That even though you were bleeding and certainly in immense pain, you fired off a tripping jinx that slowed Dimov down enough for Mr. Potter to stop him. He said it was all you.” Draco had felt himself blush. “Either way, the Auror Corps owes you a great debt.”

“Enough to excuse me from my final exams next week? I don‘t think I‘ll exactly be up for them.”

“You take the time you need.“ The Chief had said, clapping him warmly on his back with one of his massive hands.

Debbie lingers in the kitchen, helping Draco refill a tray of canapés. Right before she heads back out into the living room, her eyes fall on Michael and Harry. She likes Harry and is happy to see her son with someone so kind but she is weary, as any mother would be. She does not want to see Michael hurt again, especially after a lifetime of pining after the wrong man.

“You think those two will be alright?” She asks, motioning towards them with her chin.

“Yeah.” Draco says softly, resuming his position of rest against the door. “They’ll be brilliant.”

He and Harry have not once revisited their conversation from the night of the attack. Nor has there been any discomfort with the end of their sexual tryst. All that needed to be said, was said. All the desire they held for each other had been acted upon. And their friendship has moved forward, even deeper and stronger than before. There was a time in Draco’s life where he wanted to be friends with Harry Potter. And when that offer was refused, he lived for a very long time disgusted by the idea. But now that things have changed, now that life has given him this friendship, he is never letting it go.

“Speaking of brilliant,” Debbie says a touch of sarcasm roughening up her voice, “Where is your brilliant co-host?”

“Boycotting, most likely.”

Debbie snorts. “He always has been a bit of a Scrooge when it comes to Christmas.”

“You wouldn’t be talking about me now would you?”

Brian walks into the room, bringing with him the familiar scent of Armani cologne and Dunhill cigarettes, along with something crisper and cooler which is most likely the brittle December air itself. He is still wearing his overcoat over a charcoal grey suit. A neat, plaid scarf tucked up high around his jaw. His cheeks are a rosy red from the cold, his hair tousled from the wind.

He looks gorgeous, as always. But Brian brings with him an extra radiance these days. Life in Manhattan agrees with him as there has been a vibrancy living in and around his eyes these days. A lightness, bordering on jubilance that lets him laugh more and drink less.

This is what Brian Kinney looks like with truly no regrets.

It hadn’t taken much work to regain his place with Gwen and Reid as a partner at the firm. They had after all, never really stopped pursuing him. He had put his loft on the market. Left Ryder without a second thought. Done all the things that he should have before the first time around. He had left Pittsburgh with promises he will be able to keep. With sadness but completely prepared for what comes next.

“Speak of the fucking devil,“ Debbie cackles, pulling Brian into a massive bear hug. Brian presses his cheek to Debbie’s red curls for a moment before lifting his eyes over the top of her head. His gaze takes on a physical weight as it falls on Draco.

“We were just discussing your general distain for Christmas.“ Draco says, meeting his eyes with a smile and resting back against the counter.

Brian breaks the hug with Debbie, keeping an arm firmly wrapped around her shoulders. He is still wearing his brown leather gloves, his strong fingers wrapped in tight, supple leather. Draco can’t help himself. His mind immediately jumps to the image of those leather bound gloves stroking the length of his cock, sliding over his pecs, slapping his bare ass.  _God, what those hands could do._

“Any holiday where you are expected to give more than you receive is not a holiday for me.” Brian declares.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Draco drawls, languidly stretching his long legs out in front of him, his pelvis jutting up at an appealing angle as a result. Brian’s cheeks warm, his eyes narrow possessively. “You can be quite… _generous_.”

“That,” Debbie says stepping forward to pick up their refilled tray. She lifts it with familiar ease. “Is too much information, even for me.” She starts out towards the living room, but turns back to issue a final warning, making good use of her long, purple finger nails as she does. “I better see the both of you out there in five minutes. No sneaking back into one of the bedrooms for a quickie.”

“Yes, mom.” Brian drones with mock obedience, sliding over to put his arm around Draco. He gives her a charming smile, the one that she has never been able to resist and she leaves the room, muttering “Cocky little shit,” as she does.

The second they are alone, Brian pounces. Pinning Draco back against the cupboards with a husky growl. His mouth is open and warm, his tongue in frantic pursuit of Draco’s. Taking special care to splay his gloved hand across Draco’s jaw, running one calfskin thumb across Draco’s cheek.

He just saw Brian this morning, yet he melts beneath him as if he has not been touched in years. He gasps into Brian‘s mouth, his knees going weak.

It has been like this ever since Brian moved in the week previous. The passion that has been unleashed since they got back together is breathtaking. Every look, every touch, every kiss, is reckless and without control. As if their minds leave them and all that is left are these two bodies that crave each other so.

There had been nothing more in the world that Draco had wanted when he was first released from the hospital, then come back to this apartment and fuck Brian senseless. That single, first kiss had unleashed a flash flood of desire. Shedding light on a space that had felt forever in darkness. He wanted to do every tender, loving, passionate, filthy, dirty thing he could think of. He wanted Brian on every surface, in every room, in every position. And then he wanted to do it all over again.

But that had not been possible. His injuries simply would not let it be so.

By the time Brian moved to New York a few weeks later, Draco had felt recovered enough and nearly mad with desire that nothing was going to stop him. They had flung themselves on their bed. Feverish and frantic. And positively perfect. But then, like some virginal bride on her wedding night, when Brian had finally started to press inside him, the pain had been too much. Streaking through his gut, all the way up his spine and out to his finger tips. It had been so strong that even the intense pleasure at being with Brian again had not been enough to mask it.

“Fuck!” Draco had cried, curling onto his side, fists full of his own hair. “Fuck this! Fuck Perry and fuck his spell and fuck my stupid fucked up body!”

But Brian had not reacted with the same incensed frustration. He simply laid his long body out beside Draco‘s. Run his fingers through his hair. Pressed soft kisses his temple. Looked at him intently. “I’ve never wanted anyone so much as I want you tonight. And nothing, not Perry, not his fucking backwards bigotry,  _nothing_ is going to stop us.” And somehow, by the look in Brian’s eyes, Draco had believed him. “Lay back.” He’d ordered gently. “Tell me if it gets to be too much.”

Brian had explored his body as if for the first time. Watching in the low light of their room as he trailed delicate fingers over Draco’s skin. Alternating the soft pads of his fingers with the electric scratch of nails. He had touched him everywhere, without haste or purpose. He touched simply to feel. To reacquaint. It didn’t matter if his cock got hard, even though it had. This wasn’t about sex, it was about the feel of Brian’s skin on his, the patience of his ministrations.

After what had felt like hours, and it very well might have been, a lubed hand had tentatively circled his cock. Slowly spreading the satiny wetness up and down his length. Draco was reminded of a the first time he had felt a man’s hand on his body. How exposed and vulnerable he had felt, but also how good. Brian had stroked him, seeming to savor the way his cock would jump in his hand.   
  
“So beautiful.” He had whispered, making Draco’s throat constrict.

Draco waited for the feeling one of those liquid fingers to slip lower, to press against his ass, trying to sneak their way inside before his body resisted. But instead he felt Brian’s body shift. Felt his strong thighs straddle Draco hips. Felt matching slickness in the cleft of Brian’s ass. Felt his hand wrap around the base of Draco’s cock to angle it just so.

“Bri-.” Draco had breathed, eyes crashing open. Stilling Brian before he did what he couldn‘t  _possibly_ be doing. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know.“ He’d said, lips pressed but eyes blistering with determination. “I want to.”

It was only the next morning, sitting on the roof, the winter sun warming their skin while a heating charm took care of the rest, that Draco realized Brian hadn’t used a condom. He had clutched Brian’s hand as the realization and all that means swept over him, squeezing his hand too hard, staring at him with incredulous eyes. Brian had simply swept his thumb over the back of his knuckles and smirked into his coffee, “Wondered how long that was going to take you.”

They haven’t talked about whether barebacking is to be a regular occurrence or if had just been a temporary offer. Perhaps that doesn’t really matter. Perhaps all that matters is in that one moment, Brian had been willing to put aside his ego, his identity, his hidden desires, his secret insecurities simply because that is what Draco needed. He had been able to wrap all those things up in the trust that has formed between them and place it reverently in Draco’s waiting hands. Perhaps it is enough for Draco to have felt weight of another person's soul residing inside him, twisted up with his own just once in his life.

Draco‘s mind snaps back to the present and the fact that Brian has just gotten his fly unzipped. “Stop,” he gulps.

“Don’t want to stop.” Brian makes a lunge for his neck.

“Brian!” He laughs brightly, as the brush of Brian’s lips tickle near his ear. He uses Brian’s lapel to push him away. Just far enough so he meet Brian’s eyes, dark and lustful. “You promised Debbie, remember?” Brian runs his tongue slowly over his lips. They are red and swollen and Draco questions his sanity for stopping him.

“Fine.” Brian finally acquiesces with a grumble. He does up Draco‘s trousers with a quick zip. “But don’t blame me for your blue balls.”

Draco rolls his eyes, picking up an empty champagne flute and filling a glass for Brian as he takes off his overcoat and drops it over the back of a chair.

“Only you would be late to your own Christmas party.” Draco comments lightly, passing the glass to him.

 “I know.” Brian says dramatically. “I‘m the host from hell.” He takes a sip, nodding his head with approval at Draco‘s choice of vintage. But then he points the glass at Draco. Not looking very menacing when his weapon is a crystal champagne flute. “This is the last fucking time we let Parkinson decorate our place. Are you aware that she put fucking tulle swag on my Mies Van De Rhoe dinning table? Does she have any idea how much that table is worth?”

Draco cocks his head, giving him a dry look.

“She put it up with a spell, Brian. Your table’s not been injured.”

“That’s not the point! It looks like Martha Stewart and Saint Nick vomited all over our apartment.”

Our place. Our apartment. We.

It still feels strange to hear those words slip so easily from Brian’s lips. Even stranger when those words are book ended by words like I, love and you. It almost seems to good to be real.

Just the night before, lying loose limed, heavy and sweaty the fear had overwhelmed him. He had been tangled up with Brian and their damp sheets, his head resting in the crook of Brian‘s elbow. With Brian‘s hand stroking his hair back off his sweaty brow he had felt so safe and yet so very fragile. Like his whole existence was a figment of his imagination and could be blown away with just the slightest breeze. It was not the panic of uncertainty, but the panic of intensity. He had loved Brian before, but it is nothing in comparison to now.

“I can‘t lose this again, Brian.” He had whispered, eyes focused on the ceiling. “I don’t think I could manage.”

Brian had breathed deeply, almost as if he knew this conversation was bound to occur. “I’m not going to make promises to you just because that is what you want to hear.”

Brian’s bluntness had felt like a slap in the face. Not fitting into that moment of soft touches and plain emotion. Draco had tried to sit, completely stunned and not a little pissed off. But then Brian’s hand had been tight on his forearm and his voice had been calm.

“Look, you once told me that all you want from me is the truth and that‘s what I‘m giving you.” After a moment, Draco had allowed himself to be pulled back into Brian‘s arms. “This feels good."  He'd whispered, arms tensing around Draco's chest.  "It feels  _fucking_ good. I can’t imagine a time in my life when it won‘t but… I freaked out once. I don‘t plan on doing it ever again, but I‘m still me.” He had been silent for a moment. “And who knows…you’re only twenty years old, maybe next time it will be you who questions all this.”

“I would never…” Draco had insisted, but Brian had pushed him back against the bed. Cutting him off with a kiss before any further vows he has no way of guaranteeing had been issued.

“You love me.” Brian had said, "And I love you.” He had pressed his palm to Draco’s chest, fingers splayed wide and long over his heart. “Let that be enough.”

And of course it is.

If Draco knows nothing else about his future, he knows that he will constantly be amazed by what Brian is capable of. How complex and genuine this seemingly shallow and emotionally stunted man truly is. Brian hasn‘t changed. Not really. He has only allowed what was always within him to be revealed. Opening up as Brian has in the past year would have broken a lesser man, left them confused and reeling, not knowing who they were or what mattered anymore. But it has only left Brian more confident. More complete.

Draco saunters over to where Brian is picking through a bowl of nuts, taking out only the almonds and tossing them in his mouth. He slides his hand over Brian’s waist, his hand sneaking beneath his suit coat.

“Don’t blame Pansy. Her parents are new money. They always had a tendency to be a bit gauche.”

Brian looks up, eyes sparking. He swallows. “You are such a snob.”

“Never said I wasn’t. But this is a Christmas party, Brian.” Draco gestures at the apartment. “There is a tree and lights and holly and ivy and yes, fucking tulle swag on your Mies Van de Rhoe table.” He grabs fists full of Brian‘s dress shirt and pulls his hips forward with a forceful tug. “Get the hell over it.”

“Fuck Christmas.” Brian states, keeping up his curmudgeonly exterior. But Draco can see the smile he is trying to fight off.

“Oh come on. You can’t hate it that much.”

“I can and I do.”

“Well you won’t once you see what I got you.”

One of Brian‘s brows arches high. His interest clearly piqued. Draco reaches into his pocket and tosses a set of keys, tied up with a red, glittering ribbon to Brian. They jangle brightly as Brian catches them in his palm. He lets them dangle from his pointer finger, looking at the keys and then back up at Draco. A boyish twinkle in his eyes that leaves him looking very young.  
  
“These aren’t…”

They are. Keys to a 1971 Corvette Stingray. Brian had been pining over it for months. Draco shrugs ambiguously.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Draco examines his finger nails as he tries to hide how ecstatic he is at Brian‘s reaction. “The jeep was just so… _Pittsburgh_. The neighbors were starting to talk.”

Brian steps in front of him, his fingers slipping through his fair hair to clasp his neck. He rests his forehead against Draco‘s. “I love having such a offensively rich boyfriend like you.”

“We’ll have to take it for a spin later once the party is over.”

“I’m not letting you drive my Corvette.” He says smoothly.  He sways them gently to the music, the piano now plunking out a sexy samba. Clearly you can take Brian out of the dance club, but you can never take the dance club out of Brian.

“Oh yes you fucking are or I‘m keeping it for myself.”

Brian looks at the keys, shaking his head then slips them into his pocket. He takes a deep breath. “This could be a problem though.”

“Why?”

“It just makes what I got you look really…small.”

“You got me something?” Draco asks, well and truly surprised. Seems Scrooge learned the meaning of Christmas after all.

Brian nods, reaching into his coat pocket pulling out a small box. It is a very Slytherin shade of green leather, a gold crown pressed into the top. Brian watches expectantly, lips pressed, as Draco opens it.

“Merlin, Brian.” He breathes looking down at a stunning new Rolex watch. He takes it out, fingering the burnished metal. It feels heavy for its size.  _Platinum then._ The numbers are roman numerals etched into a black onyx face. It is a stunning watch and Draco is speechless.

“I...got it engraved.”

Brian’s voice is soft yet rich. Reflecting a bit of his own surprise at having done something so sentimental. He averts his eyes back down to the floor when Draco’s flashing eyes catch his.

He turns the watch over.

2/6/2000

“That’s…the day we met.”  Brian nods, shuffling his feet, hands in his pockets.

A jolt of amazement clenches around Draco‘s heart. “You remember that?”

“How could I forget the day someone came along and completely fucked with my life?”

Draco arches a pale brow, his lips curving. “And by ’fucked with’ you really mean ‘changed for the better‘?”

“Better than I could have ever dreamed.”

Brian looks at him, eyes so plain and sincere that Draco feels his breath still in his chest. He kisses him, chaste but lingering. He closes his eyes, needing to let his sense of touch take over during the kiss. But also needing to escape that naked look in Brian’s eyes before his emotions get the best of him.

“Thank you, Brian.” He says a moment later as he slips the watch over his hand. It is even more stunning on.

“I almost forgot,” Brian says as he takes Draco’s hand into his. “I had Harry put a spell on it. This button here will activate it.” He pushes a small knob on the opposite side of face plate than the others. A fourth hand appears on the dial, vibrant green and glowing. It indicates a time forty-five minutes in the future.

“So…it’s a charm that indicates three quarters of an hour from the present time?” Draco asks confused. Brian shakes his head, taking a step forward. His lips brush gently against Draco’s ear as he whispers.  
   
“It’s charm that tells you the next time I make you cum.”

Draco gasps, eyes fluttering. A shiver of arousal travels up and down his spine. By the time he reopens his eyes, Brian is sauntering out into the living room. He looks back over his shoulder, a devilish, wicked smile on his face. He nods at Draco and taps his wrist as if he too will be counting down the minutes. And Draco wonders if he’ll actually be able to hold out forty-five minutes.

A small cheer erupts over the party as they see Brian. The man of the hour is finally here. Emmett claps and Ted raises his glass. Even Michael tears himself away from Harry long enough to give Brian a wave. Brian however walks straight over to Lindsay, kissing her briefly on the cheek. Narcissa stands and he bends down to kiss her as well. Her arms are still full of a sleeping Gus and she hands the precious bundle over to him.

Brian has always looks so natural with Gus. Never having that new father hesitation that is so common among men. He tucks his son against him, his perfectly sculpted arms - those same arms that hold back Draco’s thighs as he pounds into him - suddenly making the perfect cradle for Gus’s small body.

Everyone in the world who matters to Draco is here. It’s been less than a year and yet his life is nothing like those dark days in Pittsburgh. So far from the frightening days of the war. So bloody different than his uncertain years at Hogwarts. It is nothing like he imagined and yet it is everything he never knew he wanted.

He senses Brian watching him and turns his head to catch Brian’s warm stare. His eyes seem to hold the same feelings of wonder and gratitude as Draco. And in the midst of the noise and commotion of the party, they connect with stillness. With commitment. With certainty. With something that goes beyond love to the realm of unity. Oneness. They realize that this thing between them is forever.  And in that moment they both know it. Acknowledge it. Agree to it.

Draco leans back against the kitchen archway once more. His body no longer weary but completely at peace. He crosses his arms, the watch cool and heavy around his slender wrist. He smiles softly. Takes a deep breath and sighs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!
> 
> My hope for finally posting this to AO3 was to rehash through Brian and Draco's story in hopes of writing another fic for them soon!
> 
> Check back later!


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